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ON    THE    FACE    OF 

THE   WATERS 


A  TALE  OF  THE  MUTINY 


BY 

FLORA   ANNIE   STEEL 

AUTHOR  OF   "miss   STUART's   LEGACY,"  "THE 
FLOWER   OF   FORGIVENESS,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


■fflew  Wort? 
THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

1897 


CoPYRIGHrT,  1896, 


PAUL  R.  REYNOLDS. 


Copyright,  1897, 


THE  MACMILLAN   COiMPANY. 


First  Edition  January,  1897.     Reprinted  January  20,  January  25,  January  30,  1897. 


THE   MEKSHON    COMPANY    PRESS, 
RAHWAV,    N.    J. 


5  /S-3.0 


PREFACE. 


A  WORD  of  explanation  is  needed  for  this  book,  which, 
in  attempting  to  be  at  once  a  story  and  a  history,  proba- 
bly fails  in  either  aim. 

That,  however,  is  for  the  reader  to  say.  As  the  writer, 
I  have  only  to  point  out  where  my  history  ends,  my 
story  begins,  and  clear  the  way  for  criticism.  Briefly, 
then,  I  have  not  allowed  fiction  to  interfere  with  fact  in 
the  slightest  degree.  The  reader  may  rest  assured  that 
every  incident  bearing  in  the  remotest  degree  on  the 
Indian  Alutiny,  or  on  the  part  which  real  men  took  in  it, 
is  scrupulously  exact,  even  to  the  date,  the  hour,  the 
scene,  the  very  weather.  Nor  have  I  allowed  the  actual 
actors  in  the  great  tragedy  to  say  a  word  regarding  it 
which  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  accounts  of  eye-witnesses, 
or  in  their  own  writings. 

In  like  manner,  the  account  of  the  sham  court  at  Delhi 
— which  I  have  drawn  chiefly  fro'm  the  lips  of  those  who 
saw  it — is  pure  history;  and  the  picturesque  group  of 
schemers  and  dupes — all  of  whom  have  passed  to  their 
account — did  not  need  a  single  touch  of  fancy  in  its  pre- 
sentment. Even  the  story  of  Abool-Bukr  and  Newasi 
is  true;  save  that  I  have  supplied  a  cause  for  an  estrange- 
ment, which  undoubtedly  did  come  to  a  companionship  of 
which  none  speak  evil.     So  much  for  my  facts. 

Regarding  my  fiction:  An  Englishwoman  zvas  con- 
cealed in  Delhi,  in  the  house  of  an  Afghan,  and  succeeded 
in  escaping  to  the  Ridge  just  before  the  siege.  I  have 
imagined  another;  that  is  all.  I  mention  this  because  it 
may  possibly  be  said  that  the  incident  is  incredible. 

And  now  a  word  for  my  title.  I  have  chosen  it  because 
when  you  ask  an  uneducated  native  of  India  why  the 
Great  Rebellion  came  to  pass,  he  will,  in  nine  cases  out 


63475>4 


VI  PREFACE. 

of  ten,  reply,  "  God  knows!  He  sent  a  Breath  into  the 
World."  Prom  this  to  a  Spirit  moving  on  the  face  of 
the  Waters  is  not  far.  For  the  rest  I  have  tried  to  give 
a  photograph — that  is,  a  picture  in  which  the  differentia- 
tion caused  by  color  is  left  out — of  a  time  which  neither 
the  fair  race  or  the  dark  race  is  ever  likely  to  quite  for- 
get or  forgive. 

That  they  may  come  nearer  to  the  latter  is  the  object 
with  which  this  book  has  been  written. 

F.  A.  Steel. 


,^^^ri<^^^k^>t<- 


ON  THE  FACE  OF  THE  WATERS 


•The 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK  I. 


Thistledown  and  Gossamer, 
chapter  page 

I.     Going  !    Going  !     Gone  !        , i 

II.     Home,  Sweet  Home, 14 

III.  The  Great  Gulf  Fixed,       ......  27 

IV.  Tape  and  Sealing-wax, 40 

V.     Bravo  ! 52 

VI.    The  Gift  of  Many  Faces, 67 

BOOK  II. 

The  Blowing  of  the  Bubble. 

I.     In  the  Palace, 84 

II.     In  the  City, gg 

III..    On  the  Ridge,        ,                 .  ' 114 

IV.     In  the  Village, 130 

V.     In  the  Residency, 147 

VI.     The  Yellow  Fakir, 164 

VII,    The  Word  Went  Forth, 179 

BOOK  III. 

From  Dusk  to  Dawn. 

I.    Night, 192 

II.     Dawn,           .                 .        ,        .        .        .         .         .  208 

III.  Daylight,        .         .         .        = 222 

IV.  Noon,            236 

V.     Sunset,             248 

VI.     Dusk,            262 

vii 


via  CONTENTS. 

BOOK  IV. 

"Such  Stuff  as  Dreams  are  Made  of." 
chapter  page 

I.     The  Death-Pledge 275 

II.     Peace  !     Peace  ! 290 

III.  The  Challenge, 306 

IV.  Bugles  and  Fifes, .  322 

V.    The  Drum  Ecclesiastic, 338 

VI.    Vox  Humana,       .        .        , 354 

BOOK  V. 

"  There  Arose  a  Man." 

I.     Forward  ! 370 

II.     Bits,  Bridles,  Spurs, 385 

III.  The  Beginning  of  the  End, 403 

IV.  At  Last, 419 

V.     Through  the  Walls, .  434 

VI.     Rewards  and  Punishments,       .....  449 

BOOK  VI. 

Appendix  a,        .........        .  470 

Appendix  b,            474 


ON  THE  FACE  OF  THE  WATERS. 


BOOK  I. 

THISTLEDOWN  AND  GOSSAMER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

going!    going!    gone! 

"  Going!  Going!  Gone!  " 

The  Western  phrase  echoed  over  the  Eastern  scene 
without  a  trace  of  doubt  in  its  cahn  assumption  of  finahty. 
It  was  followed  by  a  pause,  during  which,  despite  the 
crowd  thronging  the  wide  plain,  the  only  recognizable 
sound  was  the  vexed  yawning  purr  of  a  tiger  impatient  for 
its  prey.  It  shuddered  through' the  sunshine,  strangely 
out  of  keeping  with  the  multitude  of  men  gathered  to- 
gether in  silent  security;  but  on  that  March  evening  of 
the  year  1856,  when  the  long  shadows  of  the  surrounding 
trees  had  begun  to  invade  the  sunlit  levels  of  grass  by 
the  river,  at  Lucknow,  the  lately  deposed  King  of  Gude's 
menagerie  was  being  auctioned.  It  had  followed  all  his 
other  property  to  the  hammer,  and  a  perfect  Noah's  Ark 
of  wild  beasts  was  waiting  doubtfully  for  a  change  of 
masters. 

"  Going!  Going!  Gone!  " 

Those  three  cabalistic  words,  shibboleth  of  a  whole 
hemisphere's  greed  of  gain,  had  just  transferred  the 
proprietary  rights  in  an  old  tusker  elephant  for  the  sum 
of  eighteenpence.  It  is  not  a  large  price  to  pay  for  a 
leviathan,  even  if  he  be  lame,  as  this  one  was.     Yet  the 


2  ON    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

new  owner  looked  at  his  purchase  distastefully,  and 
even  the  auctioneer  sought  support  in  a  gulp  of  brandy 
and  water. 

"  Fetch  up  them  poUies,  Tom,"  he  said  in  a  dejected 
whisper  to  a  soldier,  who,  with  others  of  the  fatigue  party 
on  duty,  was  trying  to  hustle  refractory  lots  into 
position.  "  They'll  be  a  change  after  elephants — go  ofif 
lighter  like.  Then  there's  some  of  them  La  Alartiniery 
boys  comin'  down  again  as  ran  up  the  fightin'  rams 
this  mornin'.  Wonder  wot  the  'ead  master  said!  But 
boys  is  allowed  birds,  and  Lord  knows  we  want  to  be  a 
bit  brisker  than  we  'ave  bin  with  giij-putti.  But  there! 
it's  slave-drivin'  to  screw  bids  for  beasts  as  eats  hunder- 
weights  out  of  poor  devils  as  'aven't  enough  for  them- 
selves, or  a  notion  of  business  as  business." 

He  shook  his  head  resentfully  yet  compassionately 
over  the  impassive  dark  faces  around.  He  spoke  as  an 
auctioneer;  yet  he  gave  expression  to  a  very  common 
feeling  which  in  the  early  fifties,  when  the  commercial 
instincts  of  the  West  met  the  uncommercial  ones  of  the 
East  in  open  market  for  the  first  time,  sharpened  the  an- 
tagonism of  race  immensely;  that  inevitable  antagonism 
when  the  creed  of  one  people  is  that  Time  is  Money,  of 
the  other  that  Time  is  Naught. 

From  either  standpoint,  however,  the  auction  going 
on  down  by  the  river  Goomtee  was  confusing;  even  to 
those  who,  knowing  the  causes  which  had  led  up  to  it — 
the  unmentionable  atrocities,  the  crass  incapacity  on  the 
one  hand,  the  unsanctioned  treaties  and  craze  for 
civilization  on  the  other — were  conscious  of  a  distinct 
flavor  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant, 
and  the  Deluge  all  combined,  as  they  watched  the  just 
and  yet  unjust  retribution  going  on.  But  such  specta- 
tors were  few,  even  in  the  outer  fringe  of  English  onlook- 
ers pausing  in  their  evening  drive  or  ride  to  gratify  their 
curiosity.  The  long  reports  and  replies  regarding  the 
annexation  of  Oude  which  filled  the  office  boxes  of  the 
elect  were  unknowm  to  them,  so  they  took  the  afifair  as 
they  found  it.  The  King,  for  some  reason  satisfactory 
to  the  authorities,  had  been  exiled,  majesty  being  thus 
vested  in  the  representatives  of  the  annexing  race:  that 


GOING!     GOING!     GONE!  3 

is,  in  themselves.  A  position  which  conies  naturally  to 
most  Englishmen. 

To  the  silent  crowds  closing  round  the  auctioneer's 
table  the  affair  was  simple  also.  The  King,  for  some 
unsatisfactory  reason,  had  been  ousted  from  his  own. 
His  goods  and  chattels  were  being  sold.  The  valuable 
ones  had  been  knocked  down,  for  a  mere  song — just  to 
keep  up  the  farce  of  sale — to  the  Huzoors.  The  rubbish 
— lame  elephants  and  such  like — was  being  sold  to  them ; 
more  or  less  agamst  their  will,  since  who  could  forbear 
bidding  sixpence  for  a  whole  leviathan?  That  this  was 
in  a  measure  inevitable,  that  these  new-come  sahibs  were 
bound  to  supply  their  wants  cheaply  when  a  whole  posse 
of  carriages  and  horses,  cattle  and  furniture  was  thrown 
on  an  otherwise  supplied  market,  did  not,  of  course,  occur 
to  those  who  watched  the  hammer  fall  to  that  strange  new 
cry  of  the  strange  new  master.  When  does  such  phil- 
osophy occur  to  crowds?  So  when  the  waning  light 
closed  each  day's  sale  and  the  people  drifted  back  city- 
ward over  the  boat-bridge  they  w-ere  no  longer  silent. 
They  had  tales  to  tell  of  how  much  the  barouche  and 
pair,  or  the  Arab  charger,  had  cost  the  King  when  he 
bought  it.  But  then  Wajeed  Ali,  with  all  his  faults,  had 
never  been  a  bargainer.  He  had  spent  his  revenues 
right  royally,  thus  giving  ease  to  many.  So  one  could 
tell  of  a  purse  of  gold  flung  at  'a  beggar,  another  a  life 
pension  granted  to  a  tailor  for  inventing  a  new  way  of 
sewing  spangles  to  a  waistcoat;  for  there  had  been  no 
lack  of  the  insensate  munificence  in  which  lies  the 
Oriental  test  of  royalty,  about  the  King  of  Oude's  reign. 

Despite  this  talk,  however,  the  talkers  returned  day 
after  day  to  watch  the  auction;  and  on  this,  the  last  one, 
the  grassy  plain  down  by  the  Goomtee  was  peaceful  and 
silent  as  ever  save  for  the  occasional  cry  of  an  affrighted 
hungry  beast.  The  sun  sent  golden  gleams  over  the 
short  turf  worn  to  dustiness  by  crowding  feet,  and  the 
long  curves  of  the  river,  losing  themselves  on  either  side 
among  green  fields  and  mango  trees,  shone  like  a  bur- 
nished shield.  On  the  opposite  bank,  its  minarets  show- 
ing fragile  as  cut  paper  against  the  sky,  rose  the  Chutter 
Munzil — the  deposed  King's  favorite  palace.     Behind  it. 


4  ON   THE  FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

above  the  belt  of  trees  dividing  the  high  Residency  gar- 
dens from  the  maze  of  houses  and  hovels  still  occupied 
by  the  hangers-on  to  the  late  Court,  the  English  flag 
drooped  lazily  in  the  calm  floods  of  yellow  light.  For  the 
rest,  were  dense  dark  groves  following  the  glistening- 
curve  of  the  river,  and  gardens  gravely  gay  in  pillars  of 
white  chiuii-bacli  creeper  and  cypress,  long  prim  lines  of 
latticed  walls,  and  hedges  of  scarlet  hibiscus.  Here  and 
there  above  the  trees,  the  dome  of  a  mosque  or  the  mina- 
ret of  a  mausoleum  told  that  the  town  of  Lucknow,  scat- 
tered yet  coherent,  lay  among  the  groves.  The  most 
profligate  town  in  India  which  by  one  stroke  of  an  Eng- 
lish pen  had  just  been  deprived  of  the  raison-d'etre  of  its 
profligacy,  and  been  bidden  to  live  as  best  it  could  in 
cleanly,  courtless  poverty. 

So,  already,  there  were  thousands  of  workmen  in  it, 
innocent  enough  panderers  in  the  past  to  luxurious  vice, 
who  were  feeling  the  pinch  of  hunger  from  lack  of 
employment;  and  there  were  those  past  employers 
also,  deprived  now  of  pensions  and  offices,  with  a  bank- 
rupt future  before  them.  But  Lucknow  had  a  keener 
grievance  than  these  in  the  new  tax  on  opium,  the  drug 
which  helps  men  to  bear  hunger  and  bankruptcy; 
so,  as  the  auctioneer  said,  it  was  not  a  place  in  which  to 
expect  brisk  bidding  for  wild  beasts  with  large  appetites. 
But  the  parrots  roused  a  faint  interest,  and  the  crowd 
laughed  suddenly  at  the  fluttering  screams  of  a  red  and 
blue  macaw,  as  it  was  tossed  from  hand  to  hand,  on  its 
way  to  the  surprised  and  reluctant  purchaser  who  had  bid 
a  farthing  for  it  out  of  sheer  idleness. 

"Another  mouth  to  feed,  Shumshu!  "  jeered  a  fellow 
butcher,  as  he  literally  flung  the  bird  at  a  neighbor's 
head.  "  Rather  he  than  I,"  laughed  the  recipient,  con- 
tinuing the  fling.  "  Ari!  Shumshu,  take  thy  baby.  Well 
caught,  brother!  but  what  will  thy  house  say?  " 

"  That  I  have  made  a  fat  bargain,"  retorted  the  big, 
coarse  owner  coolly,  as  he  wrung  the  bird's  neck,  and 
twirled  it,  a  quivering  tuft  of  bright  feathers  and  choking 
cries,  above  his  head,  "  Thou'lt  buy  no  meat  at  a 
farthing  a  pound,  even  from  my  shop,  I'll  swear,  and 
this  bird  weighs  two,  and  is  delicate  as  chicken," 


GOIXG !     GOING!     GONE!  5 

The  laugh  which  answered  the  sally  held  a  faint 
scream,  not  wholly  genuine  in  its  ring.  It  came  from  the 
^C\g^  of  the  crowd,  where  two  English  riders  had  paused 
to  see  what  the  fun  was  ahout. 

"  Cruel  devils,  aren't  they,  Allie?  "  said  one,  a  tall,  fair 
man  whose  good  looks  were  at  once  made  and  marred 
by  heaviness  of  feature.  "Why!  you've  turned  pale 
despite  the  rouge !  "  His  tone  was  full  of  not  over-re- 
spectful raillery;  his  bold,  bloodshot  eyes  met  his  com- 
panion's innocent  looking  ones  with  careless  admiration. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Erlton,"  she  replied  promptly;  and 
the  even,  somewhat  hard  pitch  of  her  voice  did  not 
match  the  extreme  softness  of  her  small,  childish  face. 
"  You  know  I  don't  rouge;  or  you  ought  to.  And  it  was 
horrible,  in  its  way." 

"  Only  what  your  ladyship's  cook  does  to  your  lady- 
ship's fowls,"  retorted  Alajor  Erlton.  "  You  don't  see  it 
done,  that's  all  the  difiference.  It  is  a  cruel  world,  Mrs. 
Gissing,  the  sex  is  the  crudest  thing  in  it,  and  you,  as 
I'm  always  telling  you,  are  the  crudest  of  your  sex." 

His  manner  w-as  detestable,  but  little  Mrs.  Gissing 
laughed  again.  She  had  not  a  fine  taste  in  such  matters ; 
perhaps  because  she  had  no  taste  for  them  at  all.  So, 
in  the  middle  of  the  laugh,  her  attention  shifted  to  the 
big  white  cockatoo  which  formed  the  next  lot.  It  had  a 
most  rumpled  and  dejected  appearance  as  it  tried  to  keep 
its  balance  on  the  ring  wdiich  the  soldier  assistant  swung 
backward  and  forward  boisterously. 

"Do  look  at  that  ridiculous  bird!"  she  exclaimed, 
"  Did  you  ever  see  any  creature  look  so  foolish?" 

It  did,  undoubtedly,  with  its  wrinkled  gray  eyelids 
closed  in  agonized  effort,  its  clattering  gray  beak  bobbing 
rhythmically  toward  its  scaly  gray  legs.  It  roused  the 
auctioneer  from  his  depression  into  beginning  in  grand 
style.  "  Now,  then,  gentlemen!  This  is  a  real  treat, 
indeed!  A  cockatoo,  old  as  Methusalem  and  twice 
as  wise.  It  speaks,  I'll  be  bound.  Says  'is  prayers — look 
at  'im  gemyflexing!  and  maybe  he  swears  a  bit  like  the 
rest  of  us.  Any  gentleman  bid  a  rupee! — a  eight  annas? 
— a  four  annas?*     Come,  gentlemen!  " 

"  One  anna,"  called  INTrs.  Gissing,  wath  a  coquettish 


6  ON    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

nod  to  the  big  Major,  and  a  loud  aside:  "  Cruel  I  may  be 
to  you,  sir,  but  I'll  give  that  to  save  the  poor  brute  from 
having  its  neck  wrung." 

"  Two  annas !  "  There  was  a  stress  of  eagerness  in  the 
new  voice  which  made  many  in  the  crowd  look  whence 
it  came.  The  speaker  was  a  lean  old  man  wearing  a  faded 
green  turban,  who  had  edged  himself  close  to  the  auction- 
eer's table  and  stood  with  upturned  eyes  watching  the 
bird  anxiously.  He  had  the  face  of  an  enthusiast,  keen, 
remorseless,  despite  its  look  of  ascetic  patience. 

"Three  annas!"  Alice  Gissing's  advance  came  with 
another  nod  at  her  big  admirer. 

"  Four  annas!  "     The  reply  was  quick  as  an  echo. 

A  vexed  surprise  showed  on  the  pretty  babyish  face. 
"  What  an  impertinent  wretch !  Eight  annas — do  you 
hear? — eight  annas!  " 

The  auctioneer  bowed  efifusively.     "  Eight  annas  bid 

for  a  cockatoo  as  says "  he  paused  cautiously,  for 

the  bidding  was  brisk  enough  without  exaggeration. 
"Eight  annas  once — twace — Going!  going " 

"  One  rupee!  " 

Mrs.  Gissing  gave  a  petulant  jag  to  her  rein.  "  Oh! 
come  away,  Erlton,  my  charity  doesn't  run  to  rupees." 

But  her  companion's  face,  never  a  very  amiable  one, 

had    darkened    with    temper,     "  D n    the    impudent 

devil,"  he  muttered  savagely,  before  raising  his  voice  ^" 
call:  "  Two  rupees!  " 

"  Five!  "  There  was  no  hesitation  still;  only  an  almost 
clamorous  anxiety  in  the  worn  old  voice. 

"  Ten!  "  Major  Erlton's  had  lost  its  first  heat,  and  set- 
tled into  a  dull  decision  which  made  the  auctioneer  turn 
to  him,  hammer  in  hand.     Yet  the  echo  was  not  wanting. 

"Fifteen!" 

The  Englishman's  horse  backed  as  if  its  master's  hand 
lay  heavy  on  the  bit.  There  was  a  pause,  during  which 
that  shuddering  cough  of  the  hungry  tiger  quavered 
through  the  calm  flood  of  sunshine,  in  which  the  crowd 
stood  silently,  patiently. 

"  Fifteen  rupees,"  began  the  auctioneer  reluctantly,  his 
sympathies  outraged,  "  Fifteen  once,  twice " 


GOING!     GOING!     GONE!  7 

Then  Alice  Gissing  laughed.  The  woman's  laugh  of 
derision  which  is  responsible  for  so  much. 

"  Tifty  rupees,"  said  Major  Erlton  at  once. 

The  old  man  in  the  green  turban  turned  swiftly ;  turned 
for  the  first  time  to  look  at  his  adversary,  and  in  his  face 
was  intolerant  hatred  mingled  with  self-pity;  the  look  of 
one  who,  knowing  that  he  has  justice  on  his  side,  knows 
also  that  he  is  defeated. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  caught  up  the  auctioneer.  "  Fifty 
once,  twice,  thrice!  Hand  the  bird  over,  Tom.  Put  it 
down,  sir,  I  suppose,  with  the  other  things?  " 

Major  Erlton  nodded  sulkily.  He  was  already  be- 
ginning to  wonder  why  he  had  bought  the  brute.  Mean- 
while Tom,  still  swinging  the  cockatoo  derisively,  had 
jumped  from  the  table  into  the  crowd  round  it  as  if  the 
sea  of  heads  was  non-existent;  being  justified  of  his  rash- 
ness by  its  prompt  yielding  of  foothold  as  he  elbowed  his 
way  outward,  shouting  for  room  good-naturedly,  and 
answered  by  swift  smiles  and  swifter  obedience.  Yet 
both  were  curiously  silent;  so  that  Mrs.  Gissing's  voice, 
wondering  what  on  earth  Herbert  was  going  to  do  with 
the  creature  now  that  he  had  bought  it,  was  distinctly 
audible. 

"  Give  it  to  you,  of  course,"  he  replied  moodily. 
"  You  can  wring  its  neck  if  you  choose,  Allie.  You  are 
cruel  enough  for  that,  I  dare  say."  The  thought  of  the 
fifty  rupees  wasted  was  rankling  fiercely;  fifty  rupees! 
when  he  would  be  hard  put  to  it  for  a  penny  if  he  didn't 
pull  ofif  the  next  race.  Fifty  rupees!  because  a  woman 
laughed ! 

But  Mrs.  Gissing  was  laughing  again.  "  I  shan't 
do  anything  of  the  kind.  I  shall  give  it  to  your  wife, 
Major  Erlton.  Em  sure  she  must  be  dull  all  alone;  and 
then  she  loves  prayers !  "  the  absolute  effrontery  of  the 
speech  was  toned  down  by  her  indifferent  expression. 
"  Here,  sergeant!  "  she  went  on,  "  hold  the  bird  up  a  bit 
higher,  please.  I  want  to  see  if  it  is  w^orth  all  that  money. 
Gracious !  what  a  hideous  brute !  " 

It  was,  in  truth;  save  for  the  large  gold-circled  eyes, 
like  strange  gems,  which  opened  suddenly  as  the  swing- 
ing ceased.     They  seemed  to  look  at  the  dainty  little 


8  ON    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

figure  taking  it  in;  and  then,  in  an  instant,  the  dejected 
feathers  were  atluff,  the  wings  outspread,  the  flame- 
colored  crest,  unseen  before,  raised  Uke  a  fiery  flag  as  the 
bird  gave  an  ear-piercing  scream. 

'' Decn!  Decn!  Futtch  MohwmiicdJ'  (For  the  Faith! 
For  the  Faith!     Victory  to  Mohammed.) 

The  war  cry  of  the  fiercest  of  all  faiths  was  unmistak- 
able; the  first  two  syllables  cutting  the  air,  keen  as  a 
knife,  the  last  with  the  blare  as  of  a  trurnpet  in  them. 
And  following  close  on  their  heels  came  an  indescribable 
sound,  like  the  answering  vibration  of  a  church  to  the 
last  deep  organ-note.  It  was  a  faint  murmur  from  the 
crowd  till  then  so  silent. 

"  D n  the  bird!     Hold  it  back,  man!     Loosen  the 

curb,  Allie,  for  God's  sake,  or  the  brute  will  be  over  with 
you !  " 

Herbert  Erlton's  voice  was  sharp  with  anxiety  as  he 
reined  his  own  horse  savagely  out  of  the  way  of  his  com- 
panion's, which,  frightened  at  the  unexpected  commotion, 
was  rearing  badly. 

"All  right,"  she  called;  there  was  a  little  more  color 
on  her  child-like  face,  a  firmer  set  of  her  smiling  mouth: 
that  was  all.  But  the  hunting  crop  she  carried  fell  in  one 
savage  cut  after  another  on  the  startled  horse's  quarters. 
It  plunged  madly,  only  to  meet  the  bit  and  a  dig  of  the 
spur.  So,  after  two  or  three  unavailing  attempts  to  un- 
seat her,  it  stood  still  with  pricked  ears  and  protesting 
snorts. 

"  Well  sat,  Allie!  By  George,  you  can  ride!  I  do  Hke  to 
see  pluck  in  a  woman;  especially  in  a  pretty  one."  The 
Major's  temper  and  his  fears  had  vanished  alike  in  his 
admiration.     Mrs.  Gissing  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"  Did  you  think  I  was  a  coward?  "  she  asked  lightly; 
and  then  she  laughed.  "  I'm  not  so  bad  as  all  that.  But 
look!  There  is  your  wife  coming  along  in  the  new  vic- 
toria— it's  an  awfully  stylish  turn-out,  Herbert;  I  wish 
Gissing  w^ould  give  me  one  like  it.  I  suppose  she  has 
been  to  church.  It's  Lent  or  something,  isn't  it?  Any- 
how, she  can  take  that  screaming  beast  home." 

"  You're  not "  began  the  Major,  but  Mrs.  Gissing 

had  already  ridden  up  to  the  carriage,  making  it  impossi- 


GOliXG!     GOING!     GONE!  9 

ble  for  the  solitary  occupant  to  avoid  giving  the  order  to 
stop.  She  was  rather  a  pale  woman,  who  leaned  listlessly 
among  the  cushions. 

"  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Erlton,"  said  the  little  lady, 
"  been,  as  you  see,  for  a  ride.  But  we  were  thinking  of 
you  and  hoping  you  would  pray  for  us  in  church." 

Kate  Erlton"s  eyebrows  went  up,  as  they  had  a  trick 
of  doing  when  she  was  scornful.  "  I  am  only  on  my  way 
thither  as  yet,"  she  repHed;  "  so  that  now  I  am  aware  of 
your  wishes  I  can  attend  to  them." 

The  obvious  implication  roused  the  aggressor  to 
greater  recklessness.  "Thanks!  but  we  really  deserve 
something,  for  we  have  been  buying  a  parrot  for  you. 
Erlton  paid  a  whole  fifty  rupees  for  it  because  it  said  its 
prayers  and  he  thought  you  would  like  it!  " 

"  That  was  very  kind  of  Major  Erlton," — there  w^as 
a  fine  irony  in  the  title, — "  but,  as  he  knows,  I'm  not  fond 
of  things  with  gay  feathers  and  loud  voices." 

The  man,  listening,  moved  his  feet  restlessly  in  his 
stirrups.  It  was  too  bad  of  Allie  to  provoke  these  spar- 
ring matches.  Foolish,  too,  since  Kate's  tongue  was 
sharp  w^hen  she  chose  to  rouse  herself.  None  sharper,  in 
his  opinion. 

"  If  you  don't  want  the  bird,"  he  interrupted  shortly, 
"  tell  the  groom  to  wTing  its  neck;." 

Mrs.  Gissing  looked  at  him,  her  reproachful  blue  eyes 
perfect  wells  of  simplicity.  "  Wring  its  neck!  How  can 
you,  when  you  paid  all  that  money  to  save  it  from  being 
killed!  That  is  the  real  story,  Mrs.  Erlton;  it  is 
indeed " 

He  interrupted  his  wife's  quick  glance  of  interest  im- 
patiently. "  The  main  point  being  that  I  had,  or  shall 
have  to  pay  fifty  rupees — which  I  must  get.  So  I  must 
be  ofif  to  the  racecourse  if  I  don't  w^ant  to  be  posted.  I 
ought  to  have  been  there  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago; 
should  have  been  but  for  that  confounded  bird.  Are  you 
coming,  Mrs.  Gissing,  or  not?  " 

"  Now^  Erlton!  "  she  replied.  "  don't  be  stupid.  As  if 
he  didn't  know,  Mrs.  Erlton,  that  I  am  every  bit  as  much 
interested  as  he  is  in  the  match  wath  that  trainer  man! — 
what's  his   name,   Erlton?    Grevman — isn't  it?    I   have 


lo  ON   THE  FACE    OF   THE    WATERS. 

endless  gloves  on  it,  sir,  so  of  course  I'm  coming  to  see 
fair  play." 

Major  Erlton  shot  a  rapid  glance  at  her,  as  if  to  see 
what  she  really  meant;  then  muttered  something  angrily 
about  chafif  as,  with  a  dig  of  his  heels,  he  swung  his 
horse  round  to  the  side  of  hers. 

Kate  Erlton  watched  their  figures  disappear  behind 
the  trees,  then  turned  indifferently  to  the  groom  who  was 
waiting  for  orders  with  the  cockatoo.  But  she  started 
visibly  in  finding  herself  face  to  face  with  a  semi-circle 
of  spectators  which  had  gathered  about  the  figure  of  an 
old  man  in  a  faded  green  turban  who  stood  close  beside 
the  groom,  and  who,  seeing  her  turn,  salaamed,  and  with 
clasped  hands  began  an  appeal  of  some  sort.  So  much 
she  gathered  from  his  bright  eyes,  his  tone ;  but  no  more, 
and  all  unconsciously  she  drew  back  to  the  furthest  cor- 
ner of  the  carriage,  as  if  to  escape  from  what  she  did  not 
understand,  and  therefore  did  not  like.  That,  indeed, 
was  her  attitude  toward  all  things  native.  Yet  at  times, 
as  now,  she  felt  a  dim  regret  at  her  own  ignorance. 
What  did  he  want?  What  were  they  thinking  of,  those 
dark,  incomprehensible  faces  closing  closer  and  closer 
round  her?  What  could  they  be  thinking  of,  uncivil- 
ized, heathen,  as  they  were?  tied  to  hateful,  horrible  be- 
liefs and  customs,  unmentionable  thoughts;  so  the  innate 
repulsion  of  the  alien  overpowered  her  dim  desire  to  be 
kind. 

"  Drive  on!  "  she  called  in  her  clear,  soft  voice,  "  drive 
on  to  the  church." 

The  grooms,  new  taken  from  royal  employ, — for  the 
victoria  had  been  one  of  the  spoils  of  the  auction, — began 
their  arrogant  shouting  to  the  crowd;  the  coachman, 
treating  it  also  in  royal  fashion,  cut  at  his  horses  regard- 
less of  their  plunging.  So  after  an  instant's  scurry  and 
flurry,  a  space  was  cleared,  and  the  carriage  rolled  ofT. 
The  old  man,  left  standing  alone,  looked  after  it  silently 
for  a  moment,  then  flung  his  arms  skyward. 

"O  God,  reward  them!  reward  them  to  the  uttermost!" 
The  appeal,  however,  seemed  too  indefinite  for  solace, 
and  he  turned  for  closer  sympathy  to  the  crowd.  "  The 
bird  is  mine,  brothers !     I  lent  it  to  the  King,  to  teach  his 


GOING!     GOING!     GONE!  II 

the  Cry-of-Faith  that  1  had  taught  it.  But  the  Huzoors 
would  not  Hsten,  or  they  would  not  understand.  It  was 
a  little  thing  to  them!  So  I  brought  all  I  had,  thinking 
to  buy  mine  own  again.  But  yonder  hell-doomed  infidel 
hath  it  for  nothing — for  he  paid  nothing;  and  here — here 
is  my  money!  "  He  drew  a  little  bag  from  his  breast  and 
held  it  up  with  shaking  hand. 

"For  nothing!"  echoed  the  crowd,  seizing  on  what 
interested  it  most.     "  For  sure  he  paid  nothing." 

The  murmur,  spreading  from  man  to  man  in  doubt, 
wonder,  assertion,  was  interrupted  by  a  voice  with  the  re- 
sonance and  calm  in  it  of  one  accustomed  to  listeners. 
"  Xay!  not  for  nothing.  Have  patience.  The  bird  may 
yet  give  the  Great  Cry  in  the  house  of  the  thief.  I, 
Ahmed-oolah,  the  dust  of  the  feet  of  the  Most  High,  say 
it.     Have  patience.     God  settles  the  accounts  of  men." 

"  It  is  the  Moulvie,"  whispered  some,  as  the  gaunt, 
hollow-eyed  speaker  moved  out  of  the  crow'd,  a  good 
head  and  shoulders  taller  than  most  there.  "  The 
Moulvie  from  Fyzabad.  He  preaches  in  the  big  ]\Iosque 
to-night,  and  half  the  city  goes  to  hear  him."  The 
whispering  voices  formed  a  background  to  the  recurring 
cry  of  the  auctioneer,  "Going!  Going!  Gone!"  as  lot 
after  lot  fell  to  the  hammer,  while  the  crowd  listened  to 
both,  or  drifted  cityward  with  the  njemory  of  them  linger- 
ing insistently. 

"Going!  Going!  Gone!"  \Miat  was  going?  Every- 
thing, if  tales  were  true;  and  there  were  so  many  tales 
nowadays.  Of  news  flashed  faster  by  wires  than  any, 
even  the  gods  themselves,  could  flash  it;  of  carriages, 
fire-fed,  bringing  God  knows  what  grain  from  God  knows 
where!  Could  a  body  eat  of  it  and  not  be  polluted? 
Could  the  children  read  the  school  books  and  not  be 
apostate?  Burning  questions  these,  not  to  be  answered 
lightly.  And  as  the  people,  drifting  homeward  in  the 
sunset,  asked  them,  other  sounds  assailed  their  ears. 
The  long-drawn  chant  of  the  call  to  prayer  from  the 
]\Ioham.medan  mosques,  the  clashing  of  gongs  from  the 
Hindoo  temples,  the  solitary  clang  of  the  Christian  church 
bell.  Diverse,  yet  similar  in  this,  that  each  called  Life 
to  face  Death,  not  as  an  end,  but  as  a  beginning;  called 


12  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

with  more  insistence  than  usual  in  the  church,  where  a 
special  missionary  service  was  being  held,  at  which  a 
well-known  worker  in  the  vineyard  was  to  give  an  ad- 
dress on  the  duty  of  a  faithful  soldier  of  Christ  in  a 
heathen  land.  With  greater  authority  in  the  mosque  also, 
where  the  Moulvie  was  to  lay  down  the  law  for  each  sol- 
dier of  the  faith  in  an  age  of  unbelief  and  change.  Only 
in  the  Hindoo  temples  the  circling  lights  flickered  as 
ever,  and  there  was  neither  waxing  nor  waning  of  wor- 
ship as  mortality  drifted  in,  and  drifted  out,  hiding  the 
rude  stone  symbol  of  regeneration  with  their  chaplets  of 
flowers;  the  symbol  of  Life-in-Death,  of  Death-in-Life. 
The  cult  of  the  Inevitable. 

There  was  no  light  in  these  dark  shrines,  save  the 
circling  cresset;  none,  save  the  dim  reflection  of  dusk 
from  white  marble,  in  the  mosque  where  the  Moulvie's 
sonorous  voice  sent  the  broad  Arabic  vowels  rebounding 
from  dome  to  dome.  But  in  the  church  there  was  a 
blaze  of  lamps,  and  the  soldierly  figure  at  the  reading 
desk  showed  clear  to  the  men  and  w'omen  listening 
leisurely  in  the  cushioned  pews.  Yet  the  words  were 
stirring  enough ;  there  was  no  lack  of  directness  in  them. 
Kate  Erlton,  resting  her  chin  on  her  hand,  kept  her  eyes 
on  the  speaker  closely  as  his  voice  rose  in  a  final  con- 
fession of  the  faith  that  was  in  him. 

"  I  conceive  it  is  ever  the  hope  and  aim  of  a  true 
Christian  that  his  Lord  should  make  him  the  happy 
instrument  of  rescuing  his  neighbor  from  eternal  damna- 
tion. In  this  belief  I  find  it  my  duty  to  be  instant  in  sea- 
son and  out  of  season,  speaking  to  all,  sepoys  as  well  as 
civilians,  making  no  distinction  of  persons  or  place,  since 
with  the  Lord  there  are  no  such  distinctions.  In  the 
temporal  matters  I  act  under  the  orders  of  my  earthly 
superior,  but  in  spiritual  matters  I  own  no  allegiance 
save  to  Christ.  So,  in  trying  to  convert  my  sepoys,  I 
act  as  a  Christian  soldier  under  Christ,  and  thus,  by  keep- 
ing the  temporal  and  spiritual  capacities  in  which  I  have 
to  act  clearly  under  their  respective  heads,  I  render  unto 
Csesar  the  things  that  are  Caesar's,  to  God  the  things  that 
are  God's."* 

*  From  Colonel  W.  Wheler's  defens?. 


GO/.VG!    GOING!    GONE!  13 

There  was  a  little  rustle  of  satisfaction  and  relief  from 
the  pews,  the  hymn  closing  the  service  went  with  a  swing, 
and  the  congregation,  trooping  out  into  the  scented  even- 
ing air,  fell  to  admiring  the  address. 

"  And  he  looked  so  handsome  and  soldierly,  didn't 
he?  "  said  one  voice  with  a  cadence  of  sheer  comfortable- 
ness in  it  as  the  owner  nestled  back  in  the  barouche. 

"  Quite  charming!  "  assented  another.  "  And  to  think 
of  a  man  like  that,  brave  as  a  lion,  submitting  to  be 
hustled  off  his  own  parade  ground  because  his  sepoys 
objected  to  his  preaching.     It  is  an  example  to  us  all!  " 

"  I  wouldn't  give  much  for  the  discipline  of  his  regi- 
ment," began  Kate  Erlton  impulsively,  then  paused, 
certain  of  her  hearers,  uncertain  of  herself;  for  she  was 
of  those  women  who  use  religion  chiefly  as  an  anodyne 
for  the  heartache,  leaving  her  intellect  to  take  care  of 
itself.  With  the  result  that  it  revenged  itself,  as  now,  by 
sudden  flashes  of  reason  which  left  her  helpless  before 
her  own  comm.on  sense. 

"  ]\Iy  dear  Mrs.  Erlton!  "  came  a  shocked  coo,  "  disci- 
pline or  no  discipline,  we  are  surely  bound  to  fight  the 
good Gracious  heavens!  what  is  that?" 

It  was  the  cockatoo.  Roused  from  a  doze  by  the 
movement  of  Kate's  carriage  toward  the  church-door,  it 
had  dashed  at  once  into  the  war-cry — '' Dccn!  Dccn! 
FnttehM ohammcd ! " 

The  appositeness  of  the  interruption,  however,  was 
quite  lost  on  the  ladies,  who  were  too  ignorant  to  recog- 
nize it;  so  their  alarm  ended  in  a  laugh,  and  the  sug- 
gestion that  the  bird  would  be  a  noisy  pet. 

Thus,  with  worldly  gossip  coming  to  fill  the  widen- 
ing spaces  in  their  complacent  piety,  they  drove  home- 
ward together  where  the  curving  river  shimmered  faintly 
in  the  dark,  or  through  scented  gardens  where  the 
orange-blossom  showed  as  faintly  among  the  leaves,  like 
star-dust  on  a  dark  sky. 

But  Kate  Erlton  drove  alone,  as  she  generally  did.  She 
was  one  of  those  women  whose  refinement  stands  in  their 
wav:  who  are  gourmets  of  life,  failing  to  see  that  the  very 
fastidiousness  of  their  palate  argues  a  keener  delight  in 
its  pleasures  than  that  of  those  who  take  them   more 


14  ON   FHE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

simply,  perhaps  more  coarsely.  And  as  she  drove,  her 
mind  diverted  listlessly  to  the  semicircle  of  dark  faces  she 
had  left  unanswered.  What  had  they  wanted?  Nothing 
worth  hearing,  no  doubt!  Nothing  was  worth  much  in 
this  weary  land  of  exile  where  the  heart-hunger  for  one 
little  face  and  voice  gnawed  at  your  vitality  day  and  night. 
For  Kate  Erlton  set  down  all  her  discontent  to  the  fact 
that  she  was  separated  from  her  boy.  Yet  she  had  sent 
him  home  of  her  own  free  will  to  keep  him  from  growing 
up  in  the  least  like  his  father.  And  she  had  stayed  w-ith 
that  father  simply  to  keep  him  within  the  pale  of  respecta- 
bility for  the  boy's  sake.  That  was  what  she  told  herself. 
She  allowed  nothing  for  her  own  disappointment ;  nothing 
for  the  keen  craving  for  sentiment  which  lay  behind  her 
refinement.  All  she  asked  from  fate  was  that  the  future 
might  be  no  worse  than  the  past;  so  that  she  could 
keep  up  the  fiction  to  the  end. 

And  as  she  drove,  a  sudden  sound  made  her  start,  for 
— soldier's  wife  though  she  was — the  report  of  a  rifle 
always  set  her  heart  a-beating.  Then  from  the  darkness 
came  a  long-drawn  howl;  for  over  on  the  other  side  of 
the  river  they  were  beginning  to  shoot  down  the  hungry 
beasts  which  all  through  the  long  sunny  day  had  found 
no  master. 

The  barter  of  their  lives  was  complete.  The  last 
"  Going!  Going!  Gone!  "  had  come,  and  they  had  passed 
to  settle  the  account  elsewhere.  So,  amid  this  dropping 
fire  of  kindly  meant  destruction,  the  night  fell  soft  and 
warm  over  the  shimmering  river  and  the  scented  gardens 
with  the  town  hidden  in  their  midst. 


CHAPTER  11. 

HOME,    SWEET    HOMe! 

"  You  sent  for  me.  I  believe.  Mrs.  Erlton." 
"  Yes.  Mr.  Greyman,  T  sent  for  you." 
Both  voices  came  reluctantly  into  the  persistent  cooing 
of   doves    which    filled    the    room,    for   the    birds    were 


HOME,   SWEET  HOME!  iS 

perched  among  a  coral  begonia  overhanging  the  ver- 
anda. But  the  man  had  so  far  the  best  of  it  in  the  diffi- 
cult interview  which  was  evidently  beginning,  in  that 
he  stood  with  his  back  to  the  French  window  through 
which  he  had  just  entered;  his  face,  therefore,  was  in 
shadow.  Hers,  as  she  paused,  arrested  by  surprise, 
faced  the  light.  For  Kate  Erlton,  when  she  sent  for 
James  Greyman  in  the  hopes  of  bribing  him  to  silence  re- 
garding the  match  which  had  been  run  the  evening 
before  between  his  horse  and  her  husband's,  had  not  ex- 
pected to  see  a  gentleman  in  the  person  of  an  ex-jockey, 
trainer,  and  general  hanger-on  to  the  late  King's  stables. 
The  diamonds  with  which  she  had  meant  to  purchase 
honor  lay  on  the  table,  but  this  man  would  not  take 
diamonds.  What  would  he  take?  She  scanned  his  face 
anxiously,  yet  with  a  certain  relief  in  her  disappointment; 
for  the  clean-shaven  contours  w^ere  line,  if  a  trifle  stern; 
and  the  mouth,  barely  hidden  by  a  slight  mustache,  was 
thin-lipped,  well  cut. 

"  Yes!  I  sent  for  you,"  she  continued — and  the  even 
confidence  of  her  own  voice  surprised  her.  "  I  meant  to 
ask  how  much  you  would  want  to  keep  this  miserable 

business    quiet;    but    now "     She    paused,    and    her 

hand,  which  had  been  resting  on  the  center  table,  shifted 
its  position  to  push  aside  the  jewel-case;  as  if  that  were 
sufficient  explanation. 

"  But  now?"  he  echoed  formally,  though  his  eyes  fol- 
lowed the  action.  She  raised  hers  to  his,  looking  him 
full  in  the  face.  They  were  beautiful  eyes,  and  their  cold 
gray  blue,  with  the  northern  glint  of  steel  in  it,  gave 
James  Greyman  an  odd  thrill.  He  had  not  looked  into 
eyes  like  these  for  many  a  long  year.  Not  since,  in  a 
room  just  like  this  one,  homely  and  English  in  every 
twist  and  turn  of  foreign  flowers  and  furniture,  he  had 
ruined  his  life  for  a  pair  of  eyes,  as  coldly  pure  as  these, 
to  look  at.     He  did  not  mean  to  do  it  again. 

"  But  now  I  can  only  ask  you  to  be  kind,  and  gener- 
ous, Mr.  Greyman!  I  want  you  to  save  my  husband 
from  the  disgrace  your  claim  must  bring — if  you  press  it." 

Once  more  the  monotonous  cooing  from  the  outside 
filled  the  darkness  and  the  light  of  the  large,  lofty  room. 


1 6  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WAFERS. 

For  it  was  curiously  dark  in  the  raftered  roof  and  the  dis- 
tant corners;  curiously  light  in  the  great  bars  of  golden 
sunshine  slanting  across  the  floor.  In  one  of  them  James 
Greyman  stood,  a  dark  silhouette  against  an  arch  of  pale 
blue  sky,  wreathed  by  the  climbing  begonia.  He  was  a 
man  of  about  forty,  looking  younger  than  his  age,  taller 
than  his  real  height,  by  reason  of  his  beardless  face  and 
the  extreme  ease  and  grace  of  his  figure.  He  was  burned 
brown  as  a  native  by  constant  exposure  to  the  sun;  but 
as  he  stooped  to  pick  up  his  glove  which  had  slipped 
from  his  hold,  a  rim  of  white  showed  above  his  wrist. 

"So  I  supposed;  but  why  should  I  save  him?"  he 
said  briefly.  The  question,  thus  crudely  put,  left  her 
without  reply  for  a  minute;  during  which  he  waited. 
Then,  with  a  new  tinge  of  softness  in  his  voice,  he  went 
on:  "  It  was  a  mistake  to  send  for  me.  I  thought  so  at 
the  time,  though,  of  course,  I  had  no  option.  But 
now " 

"  But  now?  "  she  echoed  in  her  turn. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  done  save  to  go  away  again." 
He  turned  at  the  words,  but  she  stopped  him  by  a 
gesture. 

"  Is  there  not?  "  she  asked.  "  I  think  there  is,  and  so 
wil'  you  if  you  understand — if  you  will  wait  and  let  me 
speak."  His  evident  impatience  made  her  add  quickly, 
"You  can  at  least  do  so  much  for  me,  surely?" 
There  was  a  quiver  in  her  voice  now,  and  it  surprised  her 
as  her  previous  calm  had  done;  for  what  was  this  man  to 
her  that  his  unkindness  should  give  pain? 

"  Certainly,"  he  said,  pausing  at  once,  "  but  I  under- 
stand too  much,  and  I  cannot  see  the  use  of  raking  up 
details.  You  know  them — or  think  you  do.  Either  way 
they  do  not  alter  the  plain  fact  that  I  cannot  help — be- 
cause I  would  not  if  I  could.  That  sounds  brutal;  but, 
unfortunately,  it  is  true.  And  it  is  best  to  tell  the  truth, 
as  far  as  it  can  be  told." 

A  faint  smile  curved  her  lips.  "  That  is  not  far.  If 
you  will  wait  I  will  tell  you  the  truth  to  the  bitter  end." 

He  looked  at  her  with  sudden  interest,  for  her  pride 
attracted  him.  She  was  not  in  the  least  pretty;  she 
might  be  any  age  from  five-and-twenty  to  five  and-thirty. 
And  she — well!  she  was  a  lady.     But  would  she  tell  the 


HOME,  SWEET  HOME!  I? 

truth?  Women,  even  ladies,  seldom  did;  still  he  must 
wait  and  hear  what  she  had  to  say. 

"  I  sent  for  you,"  she  began,  "  because,  knowing  you 
were  an  adventurer,  a  man  who  had  had  to  leave  the 
army  under  a  cloud — in  disgrace " 

He  stared  at  her  blankly.  Here  was  the  truth  about 
himself  at  any  rate! 

"  I  thought,  naturally,  you  would  be  a  man  who  would 
take  a  bribe.  There  are  diamonds  in  that  case;  for 
money  is  scarce  in  this  house."  She  paused,  to  gain 
firmness  for  what  came  next.  "  I  was  keeping  them  for 
the  boy.  I  have  a  son  in  England  and  he  will  have  to  go 
to  school  soon;  but  I  thought  it  better  to  save  his  father's 
reputation  instead.  They  are  fine  diamonds" — she 
drew  the  case  closer  and  opened  it — the  sunshine,  stream- 
ing in,  caught  the  facets  of  the  stones,  turning  them  to 
liquid  light.  "  You  needn't  tell  me  they  are  no  use,"  she 
went  on  quickly,  as  he  seemed  about  to  speak;  "  I  am  not 
stupid;  but  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  question.  I 
want  you  to  save  my  husband — don't  interrupt  me,  please, 
for  I  do  want  you  to  understand,  and  I  will  tell  you  the 
truth.  You  asked  me  why?  and  you  think,  no  doubt, 
that  he  does  not  deserve  to  be  saved.  Do  you  think  I 
do  not  know  that?  ]\Ir.  Greyman!  a  wife  knows  more  of 
her  husband  than  anyone  else  can  do;  and  I  have  known 
for  so  many  years." 

A  sudden  softness  came  into  her  hearer's  eyes.  That 
was  true  at  any  rate.  She  must  know  many  things  of 
which  she  could  not  speak;  a  sort  of  horror  at  what  she 
must  know,  with  a  man  like  ^Major  Erlton  as  her  hus- 
band, held  him  silent. 

'■'  Yet  I  have  saved  him  so  far,"  she  went  on,  "  but  if 
what  happened  yesterday  becomes  public  property  all  my 
trouble  is  in  vain.  He  will  have  to  leave  the  regi- 
ment  " 

"  He  is  not  the  first  man,  as  you  were  kind  enough  to 
mention  just  now,"  interrupted  James  Greyman,  "  who 
has  had  to  leave  the  army  under  a  cloud.  He  would  sur- 
vive it — as  others  have  done." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  him  at  all,"  she  replied  quietly. 
"  I  was  thinking  of  my  son;  my  only  son." 

"  There  are  other  only  sons  also,  Mrs.  Erlton,"  he  re- 


l8  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

torted.  "  I  was  my  mother's,  but  I  don't  think  the  fact 
was  taken  into  consideration  by  the  court-martiaL  Why 
should  I  be  more  lenient?  You  have  come  to  the  wrong 
person  when  you  come  to  me  for  charity  or  considera- 
tion.    None  was  shown  to  me." 

'■  Perhaps  because  you  did  not  need  it,"  she  said 
quickly. 

"  Not  need  it?  " 

"  Many  a  man  falls  under  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  blame- 
lessly.    What  do  they  want  with  charity?  " 

He  rose  swiftly  and  so,  facing  the  light  again,  stood 
looking  out  into  it.  "  I  am  obliged  to  you,"  he  said  after 
a  pause.  "  Whether  you  are  right  or  wrong  doesn't 
affect  the  question  from  which  we  have  wandered.  Ex- 
cept— "  he  turned  to  her  again  with  a  certain  eagerness 
— "  Mrs.  Erlton!  You  say  you  are  prepared  to  tell  the 
truth  to  the  bitter  end ;  then  for  Heaven's  sake  let  us  have 
it  for  once  in  our  lives.  You  never  saw  me  before,  nor 
I  you.  It  is  not  likely  we  shall  ever  meet  again.  So  we 
can  speak  without  a  past  or  a  future  tense.  You  ask 
me  to  save  your  husband  from  the  consequences  of  his 
own  cheating.  I  ask  why?  Why  should  I  sacrifice 
myself?  Why  should  I  suffer?  for,  mark  you,  there 
were  heavy  bets " 

"  There  are  the  diamonds,"  she  interrupted,  pointing 
to  them;  their  gleam  was  scarcely  brighter  than  her 
scornful  eyes. 

He  gave  a  half  smile.  "  Doubtless  there  are  the  dia- 
monds! I  can  have  my  equivalent,  so  far,  if  I  choose; 
but  I  don't  choose.  It  does  not  suit  me  personally;  so 
that  is  settled.  I  can't  do  this  thing,  then,  to  please 
myself.  Now,  let  us  go  on.  You  are  a  religious  woman, 
I  think,  Mrs.  Erlton — you  have  the  look  of  one.  Then 
you  will  say  that  I  should  remember  my  own  frailty,  and 
forgive  as  I  would  be  forgiven.  Mrs.  Erlton!  I  am  no 
better  than  most  men,  no  doubt,  but  I  never  remember 
cheating  at  cards  or  pulling  a  horse  as  your  husband 
does — it  is  the  brutal  truth  between  us.  remember.  And 
if  you  tell  me  I'm  bound  to  protect  a  man  from  the 
natural  punishment  of  a  great  crime  because  I've  stolen 
a  pin,  I  say  you  are  wrong.     That  theory  won't  hold 


HOME,  SWEET  HOME!  19 

water.  If  our  own  faults,  even  our  own  crimes,  are  to 
make  us  tender  over  these  things  in  others,  there  must  be 
— what,  if  I  remember  right,  my  Colenso  used  to  call  an 
arithmetical  progression  in  error  until  the  Day  of  Judg- 
ment; for  the  odds  on  sin  would  rise  with  every  crime. 
I  don't  believe  in  mercy,  Airs.  Erlton.  I  never  did. 
Justice  doesn't  need  it.  So  let  us  leave  religion  alone 
too,  and  come  to  other  things — altruism — charity — what 
you  will.  Now  who  will  benefit  by  my  silence?  Will 
you?  You  said  just  now  that  a  wife  knows  more  of  her 
husband  than  a  stranger  can.  I  well  believe  it.  That  is 
why  I  ask  you  to  tell  me  frankly,  if  you  really  think  that 
a  continuance  of  the  life  you  lead  with  him  can  benefit 
you?  "  He  leaned  over  the  table,  resting  his  head  on  his 
hand,  his  eyes  on  hers,  and  then  added  in  a  lower  voice, 
"  The  brutal  truth,  please.  Not  as  a  woman  to  man,  or, 
for  the  matter  of  that,  woman  to  woman;  but  soul  to 
soul,  if  there  be  such  a  thing." 

She  turned  away  from  him  and  shook  her  head.  "  It 
is  for  the  boy's  sake,"  she  said  in  muffled  tones.  "  It 
will  be  better  for  him,  surely." 

"  The  boy,"  he  echoed,  rising  with  a  sense  of  relief. 
She  had  not  lied,  this  woman  with  the  beautiful  eyes;  she 
had  simply  shut  the  door  in  his  face.  "  You  have  a  por- 
trait of  him,  no  doubt,  somewhere.  I  should  like  to  see 
it.     Is  that  it,  over  the  mantelpiece?  " 

He  walked  over  to  a  colored  photograph,  and  stood 
looking  at  it  silently,  his  hands — holding  his  hunting 
crop — clasped  loosely  behind  his  back.  Kate  noticed 
them  even  in  her  anxiety;  for  they  were  noticeable,  ner- 
vous, fine-cut  hands,  matching  the  figure. 

"  He  is  not  the  least  like  you.  He  is  the  very  image  of 
his  father,"  came  the  verdict.  "  Wliat  right  have  you  to 
suppose  that  anything  you  or  I  can  do  now  will  over- 
come the  initial  fact  that  the  boy  is  your  husband's  son, 
any  more  than  it  will  ease  you  of  the  responsibility  of 
having  chosen  such  a  father  for  the  boy?  " 

She  gave  a  quick  cr\%  more  of  pain  than  anger,  and 
hid  her  face  on  the  table  in  sudden  despair. 

"  You  are  very  cruel,"  she  said  indistinctly. 

He  walked  back  toward  her,  remorseful  at  the  sight  of 


20  oA;   the  pace   OE   THE    IVATEJiS. 

her  miserable  self-abasement.  He  had  not  meant  to  hit 
so  hard,  being  accustomed  himself  to  facing  facts  with- 
out flinching. 

■'  Yes!  1  am  cruel;  but  a  life  like  mine  doesn't  make 
a  man  gentle.  And  1  don't  see  how  this  trivial  conceal- 
ment of  fact — for  that  is  all  it  would  be — can  change  the 

boy's  character  or  help  him.     If  I  did "  he  paused. 

"  1  should  like  to  help  you  if  I  could,  Mrs.  Erlton,  if  only 
because  you — you  refused  me  charity!  But  I  cannot 
see  my  way.  It  would  do  no  one  any  good.  Begin 
with  me.  I'm  not  a  religious  man,  Mrs.  Erlton.  I  don't 
believe  in  the  forgiveness  of  sins.  So  my  soul — if  I  have 
one — wouldn't  benefit.  As  for  my  body?  At  the  risk 
of  you  offering  me  diamonds  again," — he  smiled  charm- 
ingly,— I  must  mention  that  I  should  lose — how  much 
is  a  detail — by  concealment.  So  I  must  go  out  of  the 
question  of  benefit.     Then  there  is  you " 

He  broke  off  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room  thought- 
fully, then  to  pause  before  her.  "  I  wish  you  to  believe," 
he  said,  "  that  I  want  really  to  understand  the  truth,  but 
I  can't,  because  I  don't  know  one  thing.  I  don't  know 
if  you  love  your  husband — or  not." 

She  raised  her  head  quickly  with  a  fear  behind  the 
resentment  of  her  eyes.  ''  Put  me  outside  the  question 
too.  I  have  told  you  that  already.  It  is  the  simplest, 
the  best  way." 

He  bowed  cynically.  She  came  no  nearer  to  truth 
than  evasion. 

"  If  you  wish  it,  certainly.  Then  there  is  the  boy. 
You  want  to  prevent  him  from  realizing  that  his  father 
is  a — let  us  twist  the  sentence — what  his  father  is.  You 
have,  I  expect,  sent  him  away  for  this  purpose.  So  far 
good.  But  will  this  concealment  of  mine  suffice?  Will 
no  one  else  blab  the  truth?  Even  if  concealment  suc- 
ceeds all  along  the  line,  will  it  prevent  the  boy  from  fol- 
lowing in  his  father's  steps  if  he  has  inherited  his  father's 
nature  as  well  as  his  face?  Wouldn't  it  be  a  deterrent  in 
that  case  to  know  early  in  life  that  such  instincts  can't  be 
indulged  with  impunity  in  the  society  of  gentlemen? 
You  will  never  have  the  courage  to  keep  the  boy  out  of 
your  life  altogether  as  you  are  doing  now.     Sooner  or 


HOME,  SWEET  HOME!  21 

later  you  will  bring  him  back,  he  will  bring  himself  back, 
and  then,  on  the  threshold  of  life,  he  will  have  an  example 
of  successful  dishonesty  put  before  him.  Mrs.  Erlton! 
you  can't  keep  up  the  fiction  always;  so  it  is  better  for 
you,  for  me,  for  him,  to  tell  the  truth — and  I  mean  to 
tell  it." 

She  rose  swiftly  to  her  feet  and  faced  him,  thrusting 
her  hair  back  from  her  forehead  passionately,  as  if  to 
clear  away  aught  that  might  obscure  her  brain. 

"And  for  my  husband?"  she  asked.  "  Have  you  no 
word  for  him?  Is  he  not  to  be  thought  of  at  all?  You 
asked  me  just  now  if  I  loved  him,  and  I  was  a  coward. 
Well!  I  do  not  love  him — more's  the  pity,  for  I  can't 
make  up  the  loss  of  that  to  him  anyhow.  But  there  is 
enough  pity  in  his  life  without  that.  Can't  you  see  it? 
The  pity  that  such  things  should  be  in  life  at  all.  You 
called  me  a  religious  woman  just  now.  I'm  not,  really. 
It  is  the  pity  of  such  things  without  a  remedy  that  drives 
me  to  believe,  and  the  pity  of  it  which  drives  me  back 
again  upon  myself,  as  you  have  driven  me  now.  For 
you  are  right!  Do  you  think  I  can't  see  the  shame? 
Do  you  think  I  don't  know  that  it  is  too  late — that  I 
should  have  thought  of  all  this  before  I  called  my  boy's 

nature  out  of  the  dark?     And  yet "  her  face  grew 

sharp  with  a  pitiful  eagerness,  she  moved  forward  and 
laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "  It  is  all  so  dark!  You  said 
just  now^  that  I  couldn't  keep  up  the  fiction;  but  need  it 
be  a  fiction  always?  What  do  we  know?  God  gives 
men  a  chance  sometimes.  He  gives  the  whole  world  a 
chance  sometimes  of  atoning  for  many  sins.  A  Spirit 
moves  on  the  Waters  of  life  bringing  something  to 
cleanse  and  heal.  It  may  be  moving  now.  Give  my 
husband  his  chance,  Mr.  Greyman.  and  I  will  pray  that, 
whatever  it  is,  it  may  come  quickly." 

He  had  listened  with  startled  eyes;  now  his  hand 
closed  on  hers  in  swift  negation. 

"  Don't  pray  for  that,"  he  said,  in  a  quick  low  voice, 
"  it  may  come  too  soon  for  some  of  us,  God  knows — too 
soon  for  many  a  good  man  and  true!"  Then,  as  if 
vexed  at  his  own  outburst,  he  drew  back  a  step,  looking 
at  her  with  a  certain  resentment. 


2  2  OX    7 HE   FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

"  You  plead  your  cause  well,  Mrs.  Erlton,  and  it  is  a. 
stronger  argument  than  you  perhaps  guess.  So  let  him 
have  this  chance  that  is  coming.  Let  us  all  have  it,  you 
and  I  into  the  bargain.  No!  don't  be  grateful,  please, 
for  he  may  prove  himself  a  coward,  among  other  things. 
So  may  I,  for  that  matter.  One  never  knows  until  the 
chance  comes  for  being  a  hero — or  the  other  thing." 

"  When  the  chance  comes  we  shall  see,"  she  said,  try- 
ing to  match  his  light  tone.  "  Till  then,  good-by — you 
have  been  very  kind."  She  held  out  her  hand,  but  he  did 
not  take  it. 

"  Pardon  me!     I  have  been  very  rude,  and  you " 

he  paused  in  his  half-jesting  words,  stooped  over  her 
outstretched  hand  and  kissed  it. 

Kate  stood  looking  at  the  hand  with  a  slight  frown 
after  his  horse's  hoofs  died  away;  and  then  wath  a  smile 
she  shut  the  jewel  case.  Not  that  she  closed  the  incident 
also;  for  full  half  an  hour  later  she  was  still  going  over 
all  the  details  of  the  past  interview.  And  everything 
seemed  to  hinge  on  that  unforeseen  appeal  of  hers  for  a 
chance  of  atonement,  on  that  unpremeditated  strange 
suggestion  that  a  Spirit  might  even  then  be  moving  on 
the  face  of  the  waters;  until,  in  that  room  gay  with  Eng- 
lish flowers,  and  peaceful  utterly  in  its  air  of  security,  a 
terror  seized  on  her  body  and  soul.  A  causeless  terror, 
making  her  strain  eyes  and  ears  as  if  for  a  hint  of  what 
was  to  come  and  make  cowards  or  heroes  of  them  all. 

But  there  was  only  the  flowerful  garden  beyond  the 
arched  veranda,  only  the  soft  gurgle  of  the  doves.  Yet 
she  sat  with  quivering  nerves  till  the  sight  of  the  gar- 
dener coming  as  usual  with  his  watering  pot  made  her 
smile  at  the  unfounded  tragedy  of  her  imaginings. 

As  she  passed  into  the  veranda  she  called  to  him,  in 
the  jargon  which  served  for  her  orders,  not  to  forget  a 
plentiful  supply  to  the  heartsease  and  the  sweet  peas;  for 
she  loved  her  poor  clumps  of  English  annuals  more  than 
all  the  scented  and  blossoming  shrubs  which  in  those 
late  March  days  turned  the  garden  into  a  wilderness  of 
strange  perfumed  beauty.  But  her  cult  of  home  was  a 
religion  with  her;  and  if  a  visitor  remarked  that  any- 
thing in  her  environment  was  reminiscent  of  the  old 


HOME,   SWEET  HOME!  23 

country,  she  rejoiced  to  have  j^iven  another  exile  what 
was  to  her  as  the  shadow  of  a  rock  in  a  thirsty  land. 

So,  her  eye  catclhng  something  barely  up  to  western 
mark  in  the  pattern  ot  a  collar  her  tailor  was  cutting  for 
her  new  dress,  she  crossed  over  to  where  he  squatted  in 
the  further  corner  of  the  veranda. 

"That  isn't  right.  Give  me  something  to  cut — here! 
this  will  do." 

She  drew  a  broad  sheet  of  native  paper  from  the 
bundle  of  scraps  beside  him,  and  began  on  it  with  the 
scissors;  too  full  of  her  idea  to  notice  the  faint  negation 
of  the  man's  hand.  "  There!  "  she  said  after  a  few  deft 
snippings,  "  that  is  new  fashion," 

"  Huzoor!  "  assented  the  tailor  submissively  as,  appar- 
ently from  tidiness,  he  put  away  the  remainder  of  the 
paper,  before  laying  the  new-cut  pattern  on  the  cloth. 

His  mistress  looked  down  at  it  critically.  There  was 
a  broad  line  of  black  curves  and  scjuare  dots  right  across 
the  pattern  suggestive  of  its  having  been  cut  from  a  title- 
page.  But  to  her  ignorance  of  the  Persian  character 
they  were  nothing  but  the  curves  and  dots,  though  the 
tailor's  eyes  read  clearly  in  them  "  The  Sword  is  the  Key 
of  Heaven." 

For  he,  in  company  with  thousands  of  other  men,  had 
been  reading  the  famous  pamphlet  pf  that  name;  read- 
ing it  with  that  thrill  of  the  heart-strings  which  has  been 
the  prelude  to  half  the  discords  and  harmonies  of  his- 
tory. Since,  quaintly  enough,  those  who  may  hope  to 
share  your  heaven  are  always  friends,  those  who  can  with 
certainty  be  consigned  to  hell,  your  enemies. 

"  That  is  all  right,"  she  said.  "  Cut  it  well  on  the  bias, 
so  that  it  won't  pucker." 

As  she  turned  away,  she  felt  the  vast  relief  of  being 
able  to  think  of  such  trivialities  again  after  the  strain  and 
stress  of  the  hours  since  her  husband  had  come  home 
from  the  race  course,  full  of  excited  maledictions  on  the 
mean,  underhand  bribery  and  spying  which  might  make 
it  necessary  for  him  to  send'  in  his  papers — if  he  could. 
Kate  had  heard  stories  of  a  similar  character  before; 
since  Major  Erlton  knew  by  experience  that  she  had  his 
reputation  more  at  heart  than  he  had  himself,  and  that 


24  ON    THE  FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

her  brain  was  clearer,  her  tact  greater  than  his.  But 
she  had  never  heard  one  so  hopeless.  Unless  this 
jockey  Greyman,  who,  her  husband  said,  was  so  mixed 
up  with  native  intrigue  as  to  have  any  amount  of  false 
evidence  at  his  command,  could  be  silenced,  her  labor 
of  years  was  ruined.  So  long  after  her  husband  had 
gone  off  to  his  bed  to  sleep  soundly,  heavily,  after  the 
manner  of  men,  Kate  had  lain  awake  in  hers  after  the 
manner  of  women,  resolving  to  risk  all,  even  to  a  certain 
extent  honesty,  in  order  to  silence  this  man,  this  adven- 
turer; who  no  doubt  was  not  one  whit  better  than  her 
husband. 

And  now?  As  her  mind  flashed  back  over  that  inter- 
view the  one  thing  that  stood  out  above  all  others  was 
the  bearing,  the  deference  of  the  man  as  he  had  stooped 
to  kiss  her  hand.  For  the  life  of  her,  she — who  pro- 
tested even  to  herself  that  such  things  had  no  part  in  her 
life — could  not  help  a  joy  in  the  remembrance;  a  quick 
recognition  that  here  was  a  man  who  could  put  romance 
into  a  woman's  life.  The  thought  was  one,  however, 
from  which  to  escape  by  the  first  distraction  at  hand. 
This  happened  to  be  the  cockatoo,  which,  after  a  bath 
and  plentiful  food,  looked  a  different  bird  on  its  new 
perch. 

"  Pretty,  pretty  poll,"  she  said  hastily,  with  tentative 
white  finger  tickling  its  crest.  The  bird,  in  high  good 
humor,  bent  its  head  sideways  and  chuckled  inarticu- 
lately; yet  to  an  accustomed  ear  the  sound  held  the 
cadence  of  the  Great  Cry,  and  the  tailor,  who  had  heard 
it  given  wrathfully,  looked  up  from  his  work. 

"  Oh,  Mififis  Erlton!  what  a  boo'ful  new  poUy,"  came 
a  silvery  lisp.  She  turned  with  a  radiant  smile  to  greet 
her  next  door  neighbor's  little  boy,  a  child  of  about 
three  years  old,  who,  pathetically  enough,  was  a  great 
solace  to  her  child-bereft  life. 

"  Yes,  Sonny,  isn't  it  lovely?  "  she  said,  her  slim  white 
hand  going  out  to  bring  the  child  closer;  "  and  it  screams 
splendidly.     Would  you  like  to  hear  it  scream?" 

Sonny,  clinging  tightly  to  her  fingers,  looked  doubt- 
ful. "  Wait  till  muvver  comth,  muvver's  comin'  to  zoo 
esectly.     Sonny's  always  flightened  wizout  hith  muvver." 


HOME,  SWEET  HOME!  25 

At  which  piece  of  diplomacy,  Kate,  feeling  light- 
hearted,  caught  the  little  white-clad  golden-curled  figure 
in  her  arms  and  ran  out  with  it  into  the  garden,  smother- 
ing the  laughing  face  with  kisses  as  she  ran. 

"  Sonny's  a  little  goose  to  be  '  flightened,'  "  came  her 
glad  voice  between  the  laughs  and  the  kisses.  "  He 
ought  never  to  be  '  flightened  '  at  all,  because  no  one  in 
all  the  wide,  w'ide  world  would  ever  hurt  a  good  little 
childie  like  Sonnykins — No  one!     No  one!     No  one!" 

She  had  sat  the  little  fellow  down  among  the  flowers 
by  this  time,  being,  in  good  sooth,  breathless  with  his 
weight;  and  now,  continuing  the  game,  chased  him  with 
pretense  booings  of  "No  one!  No  one!"  about  the 
pansy  bed,  and  so  round  the  sweet  peas;  until  in 
delicious  terror  he  shrieked  with  delight,  and  chased  her 
back  between  her  chasings. 

It  was  a  pretty  sight,  indeed,  this  game  between  the 
woman  and  the  child.  The  gardener  paused  in  his  water- 
ing, the  tailor  at  his  work;  and  even  the  native  orderly 
going  his  rounds  with  the  brigade  order-book  grinned 
broadly,  so  adding  one  to  the  kindly  dark  faces  watch- 
ing the  chasing  of  Sonny. 

"My  dear  Kate!  How  can  you?"  The  querulous 
voice  broke  in  on  the  booings,  and  made  Mrs.  Erlton 
pause  and  think  of  her  loosened  hair  pins.  The  speaker 
was  a  fair,  diaphanous  woman,  the  most  solid-looking 
part  of  whose  figure,  as  she  dawdled  up  the  path,  was 
the  large  white  umbrella  she  carried.  "  Here  am  I  melt- 
ing with  the  heat!  What  I  shall  do  next  year  if  George 
is  transferred  to  Delhi,  I  don't  know.  He  says  we  shan't 
be  able  to  afiford  the  hills.  And  he  has  the  dogcart  at 
some  of  those  eterna^  court-martials.  I  wonder  why  the 
sepoys  give  so  much  trouble  nowadays.  George  says 
they're  spoiled.  So  I  came  to  see  if  you'll  drive  me  to  the 
band;  though  I'm  not  fit  to  be  seen.  I  was  up  half  the 
night  with  baby.  She  is  so  cross,  and  George  will  have 
it  she  must  be  ill;  as  if  children  didn't  have  tempers! 
Lucky  you,  to  have  your  boy  at  home.  And  yet  you  go 
romping  with  other  people's.  I  wouldn't;  but  then  I 
look  horrid  when  I'm  hot*" 

Kate  laughed.     She  did  not,  and  as  she  rearranged  her 


26  ox    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

hair  seemed  to  have  left  years  of  life  behind  her.  "  I  can't 
help  it,"  she  said.  "  I  feel  so  ridiculously  young  myself 
sometimes — as  if  I  hadn't  lived  at  all,  as  if  nothing  be- 
longed  to   me,   and    I   was   really   somebody    else.     As 

if "     She  paused  abruptly  in  her  confidences,  and, 

to  change  the  subject,  turned  to  the  group  behind  Mrs. 
Seymour: — an  ayah  holding  a  toddler  by  the  hand,  a 
tall  orderly  in  uniform  carrying  a  year-old  baby  in  his 
arms;  such  a  languid  little  mortal  as  is  seldom  seen  out 
of  India,  where  the  swift,  sharp  fever  of  the  changing 
seasons  seems  to  take  the  very  life  from  a  child  in  a  few 
hours.  The  flulTy  golden  head  in  its  limp  white  sun- 
bonnet  rested  inert  against  the  orderly's  scarlet  coatee, 
the  listless  little  legs  drooped  helplessly  among  the  bur- 
nished belts  and  buckles. 

"  Poor  little  chick!  Let  me  have  her  a  bit,  orderly," 
said  Kate,  laying  her  hand  caressingly  on  the  slack 
dimpled  arm;  but  baby,  with  a  fretful  whine,  nestled  her 
cheek  closer  into  the  scarlet.  A  shade  of  satisfaction 
made  its  owner's  dark  face  less  impassive,  and  the  small, 
sinewy,  dark  hands  held  their  white  burden  a  shade 
tighter. 

"  She  is  so  cross,"  complained  the  mother.  "  It  has 
been  so  all  day.  She  won't  leave  the  man  for  an  instant. 
He  must  be  sick  of  her,  though  he  doesn't  show  it.  And 
she  used  to  go  to  the  ayah;  but  do  you  know,  Kate,  I 
don't  trust  the  woman  a  bit.  I  believe  she  gives  opium 
to  the  child,  so  that  she  may  get  a  little  rest." 

Kate  looked  at  the  ayah's  face  with  a  sudden  doubt. 
"  I  don't  know,"  she  said  slowly.  "  I  think  they  believe 
it  is  a  good  thing.  I  remember  when  Freddv  was  a 
baby ^" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  believe  they  ever  think  that  sort  of 
thing,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Seymour.  "  You  never  can 
trust  the  natives,  you  know.  That's  the  worst  of  India. 
Oh!  how  I  wish  1  was  back  in  dear  old  England  with  a 
real  nurse  who  would  take  the  children  ofif  my  hands." 

But  Kate  Erlton  was  following  up  her  own  doubt. 
"  The  children  trust  them "  she  began. 

"  My  dear  Kate !  you  can't  trust  children  either. 
Look  at  baby!     It  gives  me  the  shudders  to  think  of 


THE    GREAT  GULF  TIXED.  27 

touching  Bij-rao,  and  see  how  she  cuddles  up  to  him," 
rephed  Airs.  Seymour,  as  she  dawdled  on  to  the  house; 
then,  seeing  the  bed  of  heartsease,  paused  to  go  into 
raptures  over  them.  They  were  like  English  ones,  she 
said. 

The  puzzled  look  left  Kate's  face.  "  I  sent  some  home 
last  mail,"  she  replied  in  a  sort  of  hushed  voice,  "  just  to 
show  them  that  we  were  not  cut  off  from  everything  we 
care  for;  not  everything." 

So,  as  if  by  one  accord,  these  two  Englishwomen 
raised  their  eyes  from  the  pansy  bed,  and  passing  by  the 
flowering  shrubs,  the  encircling  tamarind  trees  framing 
the  cozy,  home-like  house,  rested  them  on  the  redden- 
ing gold  of  the  western  sky.  Its  glow  lay  on  their  faces, 
making  them  radiant. 

But  baby's  heavy  lids  had  fallen  at  last  over  her  heavy 
eyes  as  she  lay  in  the  orderly's  arms,  and  he  glanced  at 
the  ayah  with  a  certain  pride  in  his  superior  skill  as  a 
nurse. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE    GREAT    GULF    FIXED. 

It  was  a  quaint  house  in  the  oldest  quarter  of  the  city 
of  Lucknow,  where  odd  little  groves  linger  between  the 
alleys,  so  that  men  pass,  at  a  step,  from  evil-smelling 
lanes  to  cool,  scented  retreats,  dark  with  orange  and 
mango  trees;  where  birds  flutter,  and  squirrels  loll 
yawning  through  the  summer  days,  as  if  the  great  town 
were  miles  aw^ay. 

It  was  in  the  furthest  corner  of  such  a  flowerless,  shady 
garden  that  the  house  reared  its  lessening  stories  and 
projecting  eaves  above  its  neighbors.  The  upper  half 
of  it  was  not  unlike  an  Italian  villa  in  its  airiness,  its 
balustraded  roof,  its  green  jalousies;  but  the  lower  por- 
tion was  unmistakably  Indian.  It  was  a  perfect  rabbit 
warren  of  dark  cells,  crushed  in  on  each  other  cause- 
lessly; the  very  staircase,  though  but  two  feet  wide,  hav- 


28  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

ing  to  fold  itself  away  circumspectly  so  as  to  find  space 
to  creep  upward. 

But  no  one  lived  below,  and  the  dark  twists  and  turns 
of  the  brick  ladder  mattered  little  to  Zora  hibi,  who  lived 
in  the  pleasant  pavilions  above;  for  she  had  scarcely 
ever  left  them  since  the  day,  nearly  eight  years  past, 
w^hen  James  Greyman  had  installed  her  there  with  all 
the  honor  possible  to  the  situation.  Which  was,  briefly, 
that  he  had  bought  the  slip  of  a  girl  from  a  house  of  ill- 
fame,  as  he  would  have  bought  a  horse,  or  a  flower-pot, 
or  anything  else  which  he  thought  would  make  life 
pleasanter  to  him.  He  had  paid  a  long  price  for  her,  not 
only  because  she  was  beautiful,  but  because  he  pitied  the 
delicate-looking  child — for  she  was  little  more — just 
about  to  enter  a  profession  to  which  she  was  evidently  a 
recruit  kidnaped  in  early  infancy  ;_as  so  many  are  in 
India.  Not  that  his  pity  would  have  led  him  to  buy  her 
if  she  had  been  ugly,  or  even  dark ;  for  the  creamy  ivory 
tint  of  her  skin  satisfied  his  fastidiousness  quite  as  much 
as  did  the  hint  of  a  soul  in  her  dark,  dreamy  eyes. 
Romance  had  perhaps  had  more  to  do  with  his  purchase 
than  passion;  restless,  reckless  determination  to  show 
himself  that  he  had  no  regrets  for  the  society  which  had 
dispensed  with  his,  had  had  more  than  either.  For  he 
had  begun  to  rent  the  pleasant  pavilions  after  a  few 
years  of  adventurous  roving  had  emphasized  the  gulf 
fixed  between  him  and  his  previous  life,  and  forced  his 
pride  into  leading  his  present  one  as  happily  as  he  could. 

As  for  the  girl,  those  eight  years  of  pure  passion  on 
the  housetops  had  been  a  dream  of  absolute  content. 
It  was  so  even  now,  when  she  lay  dying,  as  so  many 
secluded  women  do,  of  a  slow  decline.  To  have  flowers 
and  fruit  brought  to  her,  to  find  no  change  in  his  tender- 
ness because  she  was  too  languid  to  amuse  him,  to  have 
him  wait  upon  her  and  kiss  away  her  protests;  all  this 
made  her  soft  warm  eyes  softer,  warmer.  It  was  so 
unlike  anything  she  had  ever  heard  or  dreamed  of;  it 
made  her  blind  to  the  truth,  that  she  was  dying.  How 
could  this  be  so  when  there  was  no  hint  of  change,  when 
life  still  gave  her  all  she  cared  for?     She  did  not,  to  be 


THE   GREAT  GULF  FIXED.  29 

sure,  play  tricks  with  him  like  a  kitten,  as  she  used  to; 
but  that  was  because  she  was  growing  old — nearly  one 
and  twenty! 

"  She  is  worse  to-day.  I  deem  her  close  to  freedom, 
Soma,  so  I  have  warned  the  death-tender,"  said  a  tall 
woman,  as  she  straightened  the  long  column  of  her 
throat  to  the  burden  of  a  brass  water-pot,  new-poised 
on  her  head,  and  stepped  down  from  the  low  parapet  of 
the  well  which  stood  in  one  corner  of  the  shady  grove. 
Sometimes  its  creaking  Persian  wheel  moaned  over  the 
task  of  sending  runnels  of  water  to  the  thirsty  trees;  but 
to-day  it  was  silent,  save  for  an  intermittent  protest  when 
the  man — who  was  lazily  leaning  his  back  against  the 
yoke — put  out  his  strength  so  as  to  empty  an  extra 
water  can  or  two  iuto  the  trough  for  the  woman's  use. 
He  was  in  the  undress  uniform  of  a  sepoy,  and  as  he 
also  straightened  himself  to  face  the  speaker  the  ex- 
traordinary likeness  between  them  in  face  and  figure 
stamped  them  as  twins.  It  would  have  been  difficult 
to  give  the  palm  to  either  for  superior  height  or  beauty; 
and  in  their  perfection  of  form  they  might  have  stood  as 
models  of  the  mythical  race-founders  whose  names  they 
bore.  For  Tara  Devi  and  Soma  Chund  were  Rajpoots 
of  the  single  Lunar  or  Yadubansi  tribe.  She  was 
dressed  in  an  endless  scarf  of  crimson  wool,  which  with 
its  border  of  white  and  yellow  embroidery  hung  about 
her  in  admirable  folds.  The  gleam  of  the  water-pot 
matched  the  dead  gold  circlets  on  the  brown  wrists  and 
ankles;  for  Tara  wore  her  savings  thus,  though  she  had 
no  right  to  do  so,  being  a  widow.  But  she  had  been 
eight  years  in  James  Greyman's  service ;  more  than  eight 
bound  to  him  by  the  strangest  of  ties.  He  had  been  the 
means  of  saving  her  from  her  husband's  funeral  pyre; 
in  other  words  of  preventing  her  from  being  a  saint,  of 
making  her  outcaste  utterly.  Since  none,  not  even 
other  widows,  would  eat  or  drink  with  a  woman  rejected 
by  the  very  gods  on  the  threshold  of  Paradise.  Such  a 
mental  position  is  well-nigh  incomprehensible  to 
western  minds.     It  was  confusing  even  to  Tara  herself; 


30  ON    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

and  the  mingling-  of  conscious  dignity  and  conscious 
degradation,  gratitude,  resentment,  attraction,  repulsion, 
made  her  a  puzzle  even  to  herself  at  times. 

''  The  master  will  grieve,"  replied  Soma;  his  voice 
was  far  softer  than  his  sister's  had  been,  but  it  had  the 
effect  of  hardening  hers  still  more. 

"What  then?"  she  asked;  "man's  sorrow  for  a 
w' Oman  passes ;  or  even  if  it  pass  not,  bears  no  fruit  here, 
or  hereafter.  But  I,  as  ihoxi  knowest,  Soma,  would  have 
burned  with  my  love.  But  for  thee,  as  thou  knowest,  I 
would  have  been  suttee  (lit.  virtuous).  But  for  thee  I 
should  have  found,  ay!  and  given  salvation." 

She  passed  on  with  a  sweep  of  full  drapery,  bearing 
her  water-pot  as  a  queen  might  her  crown,  leaving 
Soma's  handsome  face  full  of  conscious-stricken  amaze. 
His  sister — from  whom,  despite  her  degradation,  he  had 
not  been  able  to  dissociate  himself  utterly — had  never 
before  rounded  on  him  for  his  share  in  her  misfortune; 
but  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  had  admitted  his  responsi- 
bility at  one  moment,  scorned  it  the  next.  True,  he 
had  told  his  young  Lieutenant  that  his  brother-in-law 
was  going  to  be  burned,  as  an  excuse  for  not  accom- 
panying him  after  black-buck  one  morning;  but  who 
would  have  dreamed  that  this  commonplace  remark 
W'Ould  rouse  the  Huzoor's  curiosity  to  see  the  obsequies 
of  a  high-caste  Rajpoot,  and  so  lead,  incidentally,  to 
a  file  of  policemen  and  the  neighboring  magistrate  drag- 
ging the  sixteen-year  old  widow  from  the  very  flames? — 
when  she  w^as  drugged,  too,  and  quite  happy — when  the 
wrench  was  over,  even  for  him,  and  she,  to  all  intents, 
was  a  saint  scattering  salvation  on  seven  generations  of 
inconstant  males!  Much  as  he  loved  Tara,  the  little 
twin  sister  who,  so  the  village  gossips  loved  to  tell,  had 
left  the  Darkness  for  the  Light  of  Life  still  clasping  his 
hand,  how  could  he  have  done  her  such  an  injury?  As 
a  Rajpoot  how  could  he  have  brought  such  a  scandalous 
dishonor  on  any  family? 

But  being  also  a  soldier,  as  his  fathers  had  been  before 
him,  and  so  leavened  unconsciously  by  much  contact 
with  Europeans,  he  could  not  help  admiring  Tara's  pluck 
in  refusing  to  accept  the  life  of  a  dog.  whicli  was  all  that 


THE   GREAT  GULF  FIXED.  3^ 

was  left  to  her  among  her  own  people.  And  he  had  been 
grateful  to  the  Huzoor,  as  she  was,  for  giving  her  good 
service  where  he  could  see  her;  though  he  would  not 
for  worlds  have  touched  the  hand  which  had  lain  in  his 
from  the  beginning  of  all  things.     It  was  unclean  now. 

Still  he  could  not  *orget  the  gossip's  story  any  more 
than  he  could  forget  that  James  Greyman  had  been  his 
Lieutenant,  and  that  together  they  had  shot  over  half 
Hurreeana.  So  when  he  passed  through  Lucknow  on 
his  way  to  spend  his  leave  in  his  wife's  village,  he  always 
gave  a  day  or  two  of  it  to  the  quaint  garden-house. 

And  now  Tara  had  definitely  accused  him  of  ruining 
her  life!  Anger,  born  of  a  vague  remorse,  filled  him  as 
he  watched  her  disappear  up  the  plinth.  If  it  was  any- 
body's fault  it  was  the  Huzoor's ;  or  rather  of  the  Sirkar 
itself  who,  by  high-handed  interference  with  venerable 
customs,  made  it  possible  for  a  poor  man,  by  a  mere  slip 
of  the  tongue,  to  injure  one  bound  to  him  by  the  closest 
of  ties. 

"  It  will  leave  us  naught  to  ourselves  soon,"  he  mut- 
tered sulkily  as  he  went  out  to  the  doorstep  to  finish 
polishing  the  master's  sword;  that  being  a  recognized 
office  during  these  occasional  visits,  which,  as  it  occurred 
to  him  in  his  discontent,  would  be  still  more  occasional 
if  among  other  things  the  Sirkar,-  now  that  Oude  was 
was  annexed,  took  away  the  extra  leave  due  to  foreign 
service.  They  had  said  so  in  the  regiment;  and  though 
he  was  too  tough  to  feel  pin-pricks  in  advance,  he  had 
sneered  with  others  in  the  current  jest  that  the  maps 
were  tinted  red — /.  c,  shown  to  be  British  territory — by 
savings  stolen  from  the  sepoy's  pocket. 

It  was  very  quiet  on  the  paved  slope  leading  up  from 
the  alley  to  the  carved  door  beyond  the  gutter.  The 
lane  was  too  narrow  for  wheeled  traffic,  the  evening  not 
sufficiently  advanced  for  the  neighbors  to  gather  in  it 
for  gossip.  But  every  now  and  again  a  veiled  figure 
would  sidle  along  the  further  wall,  passing  good-looking 
Soma  with  a  flurried  shuffle.  Whereat,  though  he  knew 
these  ghostly  figures  to  be  old  women  on  their  way  to 
market,  he  cocked  his  turban  more  awry,  and  curled  his 
mustachios   nearer   his   eyes;    from   no   set    purpose   of 


32  ON   THE  FACE    OF   THE    WATERS. 

playing  the  gay  Lothario,  but  for  the  honor  of  the  regi- 
ment, and  because  War  and  Women  go  together,  East 
and  West. 

After  a  time,  however,  the  workmen  began  to  dawdle 
past  from  their  work,  and  some  of  them,  remembering 
Soma,  paused  to  ask  him  the  latest  news;  a  stranger  in 
a  native  city  being  equivalent  to  an  evening  paper. 
And,  of  course,  there  were  questions  as  to  what  the  regi- 
ment thought  of  this  and  that.  But  Soma's  replies  were 
curt.  He  never  relished  being  lumped  in  as  a  simple 
Rajpoot  with  the  rest  of  the  Rajpoots,  for  he  was  inordi- 
nately proud  of  his  tribe.  That  was  one  reason  why  he 
stood  aloof,  as  he  did,  from  much  that  went  on  among 
his  comrades.  He  drilled,  it  is  true,  between  two  of 
them  who  were  entered  as  he  was — that  is  to  say,  as  a 
Rajpoot — on  the  roster.  But  the  three  were  in  reality 
as  wide  apart  as  the  Sun,  the  Moon,  and  the  Fire  from 
which  they  respectively  claimed  descent.  They  would 
not  have  intermarried  into  each  other's  families  for  all 
the  world  and  its  wealth.  A  causeless  differentiation 
■which  makes,  and  must  make,  a  people  who  cling  to  it 
incomprehensible  to  a  race  which  boasts  as  a  check  to 
pride  or  an  encouragement  to  humility  that  all  men  are 
born  of  Adam,  and  which  seeks  no  hall-mark  for  its 
descendants  save  the  stamp  of  the  almighty  dollar. 

Soma,  therefore,  polishing  his  master's  sword  sulkily, 
grew  irritable  also;  especially  when  the  frequenters  of  the 
opium  and  hemp  shops  began,  with  wavering  steps  and 
lack-luster  eyes,  to  loaf  homeward  for  the  evening  meal 
which  would  give  them  strength  for  another  dose. 
There  were  many  such  habitual  drug-takers  in  the  quar- 
ter; for  it  was  largely  inhabited  by  poor  claimants  to 
nobility  who,  having  nothing  to  do,  had  time  for  dreams. 
That  was  why  people  from  other  quarters  flocked  to  this 
one  at  sundown  for  gossip;  since  it  is  to  be  had  at  its 
best  from  the  opium-eater,  whose  imagination  is  stimu- 
lated, his  reason  dulled,  beyond  the  power  of  discrimi- 
nating even  his  own  truth  or  falsehood.  One  of  these,  a 
haggard,  sallow  fellow  in  torn  muslin  and  ragged  em- 
broidery, stopped  with  a  heavy-lidded  leer  beside  Soma. 

"  So,  brother,  back  again!  "  he  said  with  the  maudlin 


THE   GREA  T  GULF  FIXED.  ZZ 

gravity  of  a  hemp-smoker;  "and  thou  lookest  fat.     The 
bone  dust  must  agree  with  thee." 

It  was  as  if  a  bomb  had  fallen.  The  Hindoo  bystanders, 
recognizing  the  rumor  that  ground  bones  were  mixed 
with  commissariat  flour,  drew  back  from  the  Rajpoot 
instinctively;  the  Mohammedans  smiled  on  the  sly. 
Soma  himself  had  in  a  moment  one  sinewy  hand  on  the 
half-drunk  creature's  throat,  the  other  brandishing  the 
fresh-polished  sword. 

"  Bone  dust  thyself,  and  pigs  meat  too,  foul-mouthed 
slayer  of  sacred  kine !  "  he  gasped,  carrying  the  war 
into  the  enemy's  countrv.  "Thou  beast!  Unsav  the 
lie!" 

His  indignation,  showing  that  he  appreciated  the 
credence  some  might  be  disposed  to  give  to  the  accusa- 
tion, only  made  the  Hindoos  look  at  each  other.  The 
Mohammedans,  however,  dragged  him  from  the  sway- 
ing figure  of  the  accuser,  who,  after  all,  was  one  of 
themselves. 

"  Heed  him  not!  "  they  chorused  appeasingly.  "  'Tis 
drug-shop  talk,  and  every  sane  man  knows  that  for 
dreams.  Lo!  his  sense  is  clean  gone  as  horns  from  a 
donkey!  Sure,  thy  mother  ate  chillies  in  her  time  for 
thou  to  be  so  hot-blooded.  It  is  not  morning,  brother, 
because  a  hen  crows,  and  a  snake  is  but  a  snake,  and 
goes  crooked  even  to  his  own  home!  " 

These  hoarded  saws,  with  physical  force  superadded, 
left  Soma  reduced  to  glaring,  and  renewed  claims  for  a 
retraction  of  the  insult. 

The  hemp-smoker  looked  at  him  mournfully. 
"  Wouldst  have  me  deny  God's  truth?  "  he  hiccuped. 
"  Lo!  I  say  not  thou  didst  eat  it.  Thou  sayst  not,  and 
who  am  I  to  decide  between  a  man  and  his  stomach,  even 
though  he  looks  fat?  Yet  this  all  know,  that  as  a  bird 
fattens  his  tail  shrinks,  and  honor  is  nowhere  nowadays. 
But  this  I  say  for  certain.  Let  him  eat  w'ho  will,  there 
is  bone  dust  in  the  flour — there  is  bone  dust  in  the 
flour " 

He  lurched  from  a  supporter's  hold  and  drifted  down 
the  lane,  half-chanting  the  words. 

Soma  glared,  now,  at  those  doubtful  faces  which  re- 


34  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

mained.  "  'Tis  a  lie,  brothers!  But  there,  'tis  no  use 
wearing  the  red  coat  nowadays  when  all  scoff  at  it.  And 
why  not?  when  the  Sirkar  itself  mocks  our  rights.  I 
tell  thee  at  the  father-in-law's  village,  but  now,  a  man 
who  titled  me  sahib  last  year  puffed  his  smoke  in  my 
face  this.  And  wherefore  not?  May  not  every  scoun- 
drel nowadays  drag  us  to  court  and  set  us  a-bribing 
underlings  as  the  common  herd  have  to  do?  We,  sol- 
diers of  Oude,  who  had  a  Resident  of  our  own  always, 
and " 

"  Nothing  lasts  for  always,  save  God,"  said  a  long- 
bearded  bystander,  interrupting  Soma's  parrot  roll  of 
military  grievances,  "  as  the  IMoulvie  said  last  night  at 
our  mosque,  it  is  well  he  remains  ever  the  same,  giving 
the  same  plain  orders  once  and  for  all.  So  none  of  the 
faithful  can  mistake.  God  is  Might  and  Right.  All  the 
rest  is  change." 

''Wall!  zvah!"  murmured  some  respectfully;  but  the 
Rajpoot's  scowl  lost  its  fierceness  in  supercilious  indif- 
ference. 

"  That  may  suit  the  Moulvie.  It  may  suit  thee  and 
thine,  syycd-jcc,"  he  replied,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoul- 
ders. "  It  suits  not  me  nor  mine,  being  of  a  different 
race.  We  are  Rajpoots,  and  there  is  no  change  pos- 
sible to  that.     We  are  ever  the  same." 

The  pride  in  his  voice  and  manner  reflected  but  faintly 
the  inconceivable  pride  in  his  heart.  Yet  he  was  on  the 
alert,  salaaming  cheerfully,  as  James  Greyman  came 
riding  with  a  clatter  down  the  alley,  and  without  drawing 
bridle,  passed  through  the  low  gateway  into  the  dark 
garden  heavy  with  the  perfume  of  orange-blossom. 
His  arrival  ended  the  incident,  for  Soma  followed  him 
quickly,  and  in  obedience  to  his  curt  order  to  see  the 
groom  rub  down  the  horse  while  it  waited,  as  it  had 
jjeen  a  breather  round  the  race  course,  walked  off  with 
it  toward  the  w^ell.  It  was  such  an  opportunity  for 
ordering  other  men  about  as  natives  dearly  love;  so  that 
the  more  autocratic  a  master  is,  the  better  pleased  they 
are  to  gain  dignity  by  serving  him. 

James  Greyman,  meanwhile,  had  paused  on  the  plinth 


THE    GREAT  GULF  FIXED.  35 

to  give  a  low  whistle  and  look  upward  to  the  terraced 
roof.  And  as  he  did  so  his  face  was  full  of  weariness, 
and  yet  of  impatience.  He  had  been  telling  himself  that 
he  was  a  fool  ever  since  he  had  left  Kate  Erlton's  draw- 
ing room  half  an  hour  before,  and  even  his  mad  gallop 
round  the  steeple-chase  course  had  not  effaced  the 
curious  sense  of  compulsion  which  had  made  him 
promise  to  let  her  husband  go  scot-free.  Even  now, 
when  he  waited  with  that  dread  at  his  heart,  which  of 
late  had  been  growing  stronger  day  by  day,  for  the 
answer  which  Zora  loved  to  make  to  his  signal,  his  fear 
lest  the  Great  Silence  had  fallen  between  them  was  lost 
in  the  recollection  that,  if  it  were  so,  his  freedom  had 
come  too  late.  He  hated  himself  for  thus  bracketing 
death  and  freedom  together,  but  for  all  that  he  would 
not  blind  himself  to  its  truth.  Now  that  his  profession 
had  gone  with  the  King's  exile,  Zora  was,  indeed,  the 
only  tie  to  a  life  which  had  grown  distasteful  to  him, 
and  when  the  Great  Silence  came,  as  come  it  must,  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  James  Greyman  behind, 
and  go  home  to  England.  He  was  nearing  forty,  and 
though  the  spirit  of  reckless  adventure  was  fading,  the 
ambitions  of  his  youth  seemed  to  be  returning;  as  they 
so  often  do  when  the  burden  and  heat  of  passion  passes. 
He  was  tired  of  perpetual  sunshine;  the  thought  of  the 
cold  mists  on  the  hilltops,  the  wild  storms  on  the  west 
coast,  haunted  him.  He  wanted  to  see  them  again. 
Above  all,  he  wanted  to  hear  himself  called  by  his  own 
familiar  name,  not  by  the  one  he  had  assumed.  It  had 
seemed  brutal  to  dream  of  all  this  sometimes,  while 
little  Zora  still  lay  in  his  arms  smiling  contentedly;  but 
it  was  inevitable.  And  so,  while  he  waited,  watching 
with  the  dread  growing  at  his  heart  for  the  flutter  of  the 
tinsel  veil,  the  half-heard  whisper  "  KhusJi  amud-ccd  " 
(welcome),  it  was  inevitable  also  that  the  remembrance 
of  his  promise  to  Kate  Erlton  should  invade,  and  as  it 
were  desecrate,  his  real  regret  for  the  silence  that  seemed 
to  grow  deeper  every  second.  It  had  come  too  late — 
too  late!  There  could  be  no  solace  in  freedom  now. 
That  other  silence  in  regard  to  Major  Erlton's  misdeeds 


3*5  ON    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

meant  the  loss  of  every  penny  he  had  scraped  together 
for  England.  He  might  have  to  sell  up  almost  every- 
thing he  possessed  in  order  to  pay  his  bets  honorably; 
and  that  he  must  do,  or  he  gave  away  his  only  hope  of 
recouping  his  bad  luck.  Why  had  he  promised?  Why 
had  he  given  up  a  certainty  for  that  vague  chance  of 
which  he  had  spoken,  he  scarcely  knew  why,  to  these 
cold  blue  northern  eyes  with  the  glint  of  steel.  The 
remembrance  brought  a  passionate  anger  at  himself. 
Was  there  anything  in  the  world  worth  thinking  of  now, 
with  that  silence  new-fallen  upon  him,  except  the  soft 
warm  eyes  which  were  perhaps  closed  forever?  So, 
with  a  quick  step,  he  passed  up  the  stairs  and  gave  his 
signal  knock  at  the  door  which  led  on  to  the  terraced 
roof. 

Tara,  opening  it,  answered  his  look  with  finger  to  her 
lip,  and  a  warning  glance  to  the  low  string-bed  set  close 
to  the  arches  of  the  summer-house  so  as  to  catch  the 
soft-scented  breeze.  He  stepped  over  to  it  lightly  and 
looked  down  on  the  sleeper;  but  the  relief  passed  from 
his  face  at  what  he  saw  there.  It  could  only  be  a 
question  of  hours  now. 

"Why  didst  not  send  before?"  he  asked  in  a  low 
voice.  "  I  bid  thee  send  if  she  were  worse  and  she 
needed  me."  Once  more  the  anger  against  that  other 
woman  came  uppermost.  What  was  she  to  him  that  she 
should  filch  even  half  an  hour  from  this  one  who  loved 
him?  He  might  so  easily  have  come  earlier;  and  then 
the  promise  would  not  have  been  made.  Was  he  utterly 
heartless,  that  this  thought  would  come  again  and 
again? 

"  She  slept,"  replied  Tara  coldly.  "  And  sleep  needs 
naught.  Not  even  Love's  kisses.  It  is  nigh  the  end 
though,  master,  as  thou  seest;  so  I  have  warned  mother 
Jewuni,  the  death  tender."  She  had  spoken  so  far  as  if 
she  desired  to  make  him  wince;  now  the  pain  on  his 
face  made  her  add  hurriedly:  "She  hath  not  sufifered, 
Huzoor,  she  hath  not  complained.  Had  it  been  so  I 
would  have  sent.     But  sleep  is  rest." 

She  passed  on  to  a  lower  roof  softening  her  echoing 
steps  with  a  quaint  crooning  lullaby: 


THE   GREA  T  GULF  FIXED.  37 

"  My  breast  is  rest 
And  rest  is  Death. 
Ye  who  have  breath 
Say  which  is  best  ? 
Death's  Sleep  is  rest  ! " 

Was  it  so?  As  he  stood,  still  looking  down  on  the 
sleeper,  something  in  the  lack  of  comfort,  of  all  the  re- 
finements and  luxuries  which  seem  to  belong  by  right 
to  the  sickness  of  dear  ones  in  the  West,  smote  him 
suddenly  with  a  sense  of  deprivation,  of  division.  And 
though  he  told  himself  that  Death  came  in  far  more 
friendly  fashion  out  there  in  the  sunlight,  where  you 
could  hear  the  birds,  watch  the  squirrels,  and  see  the 
children's  kites  go  sailing  overhead  in  the  blue  sky;  still 
the  bareness  of  it  seemed  somehow  to  reveal  the  great 
gulf  between  his  complexity,  his  endless  needs  and 
desires,  and  the  simpHcity  of  that  human  creature  drift- 
ing to  death,  almost  as  the  animals  drift,  without  com- 
plaint, without  fears,  or  hopes.  It  seemed  so  pitiful. 
The  slender  figure,  still  gay  in  tinsel  and  bright  draper- 
ies, all  cuddled  up  on  the  quilt,  its  oval  face  resting  hardly 
on  the  thin  arm  where  the  bracelets  hung  so  loosely,  had 
an  uncared-for  look.  It  seemed  alone,  apart;  as  far  from 
Death  in  its  nearness  to  Life,  as  it  was  from  Life  in  its 
closeness  to  Death.  In  swift  pity  he  stooped  to  risk  an 
awakening  by  gathering  it  into  his  'warm  friendly  arms. 
It  would  at  least  feel  the  beating  of  another  human  heart 
when  it  lay  there.  It  would  at  least  be  more  comfort- 
able than  on  the  bare,  hard,  pillowless  bed. 

But  he  paused.  How  could  he  judge?  How  dare  he 
judge  even  for  that  wasted  body,  which,  despite  its  soft- 
ness, had  never  known  half  the  luxuries  his  claimed? 
So  he  left  her  lying  as  he  had  often  seen  her  sleep,  all 
curled  up  on  herself  like  a  tired  squirrel,  and  passing  to 
the  parapet  leaned  over  it  looking  moodily  down  into 
the  darkening  orange  trees.  Their  heavy  perfume  floated 
upward,  reminding  him  of  many  another  night  in  spring- 
time spent  with  Zora  upon  this  terraced  roof. 

And  suddenly  his  hand  fell  in  a  gesture  of  sheer  anger. 

Before  God!  it  had  been  unfair;  this  idyl  on  the  house- 
tops.    The  world  had  held  no  more  for  her  save  her  pas- 


38  0,V   THE   FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

sion  for  him,  pure  in  its  very  perfection.  His  for  her 
had  been  but  a  small  part  of  his  life.  It  never  was  more 
than  that  to  a  man,  in  reality,  and  so  this  sort  of  thing 
must  always  be  unfair.  That  she  had  been  content  made 
it  worse,  not  better.  Poor  little  soul!  drifting  away  from 
the  glow  and  the  glamour. 

A  resentment  for  her,  more  than  for  himself,  made  him 
go  to  where  Tara  sat  gossiping  with  her  fellow-servant 
on  the  other  roof  and  bid  them  wait  downstairs.  If  the 
silence  were  indeed  about  to  fall,  if  the  glow  and  the 
glamour  were  going,  then  she  and  he  might  at  least  be 
alone  once  more  beneath  the  coming  stars;  alone  in  the 
soft-scented  darkness  which  had  so  often  seemed  to  clasp 
them  closer  to  each  other  as  they  sat  in  it  like  a  couple  of 
children  whispering  over  a  secret. 

Closer!  As  he  leaned  over  the  parapet  his  keen  eyes 
stared  down  into  the  half-seen  city  spreading  below  him. 
Wide,  tree-set,  full  of  faint  sounds  of  life;  the  wreaths  of 
smoke  from  thousands  of  hearths  rising  to  obscure  it 
from  his  view.  Obscuring  it  hopelessly  with  their  tale 
of  a  life  utterly  apart  from  any  he  could  lead.  Even 
there  on  the  housetop  he  had  only  pretended  to  lead  it. 
It  was  not  she,  drifting  to  death  so  contentedly,  who  was 
alone!  It  was  he.  Yet  some  men  he  had  known  had 
seemed  able  to  combine  the  two  lives.  They  had  been 
content  to  think  half-caste  thoughts,  to  rear  up  a  tribe 
of  half-caste  children;  while  he?  How  many  years  was 
it  since  he  had  seen  Zora  weeping  over  a  still  little  mor- 
sel of  humanity,  his  child  and  hers,  that  lay  in  her 
tinseled  veil?  She  had  wept,  mostly  because  she  was 
afraid  he  might  be  angry  because  his  son  had  never 
drawn  breath;  and  he  had  comforted  her.  He  had 
never  told  her  of  the  relief  it  was  to  him,  of  the  vague 
repulsion  which  the  thought  of  a  child  had  always 
brought  with  it.  One  could  not  help  these  things;  and, 
after  all,  she  had  only  cared  because  she  was  afraid  he 
cared.  She  did  not  crave  for  motherhood  either.  It  was 
the  glow  and  glamour  that  had  been  the  bond  between 
them;  nothing  else.  And,  thank  Heaven!  she  had  never 
tired  of  it,  had  never  seen  him  tire  of  it — for  Death  would 
come  before  that  now. 


THE    GREAT  GULF  FIXED.  39 

A  chiming  clash  of  silver  made  him  turn  quickly.  She 
had  awakened,  and  seeing  him  by  the  parapet,  had  set 
her  small  feet  to  the  ground,  and  now  stood  trying  to 
steady  herself  by  her  thin,  wide-spread  arms. 

"  Zora!  wait!  I  am  coming,"  he  cried,  starting  forward. 
Then  he  paused,  speech  and  action  arrested  by  some- 
thing in  her  look,  her  gesture. 

"  Let  me  come,"  she  murmured,  her  breath  gone  with 
the  effort.  "  I  can  come.  I  must  be  able  to  come.  My 
lord  is  so  near — so  near." 

A  fierce  pity  made  him  stand  still.  "  Surely  thou  canst 
come,"  he  answered.     "  I  will  stay  here." 

As  she  stood,  with  parted  lips,  waiting  for  a  glint  of 
strength  ere  she  tried  to  walk,  her  swaying  figure,  the 
brilliance  of  her  eyes,  the  heaving  of  her  delicate  throat, 
cut  him  to  the  very  heart  for  her  sake  more  than  for  his 
own.  Then  the  jingle  of  her  silver  anklets  rose  again  in 
irregular  cadence,  to  cease  at  the  next  pillar  where  she 
paused,  steadying  herself  against  the  cold  stone  to  regain 
her  breath. 

"  Surely,  I  can  come ;  and  he  so  near,"  she  murmured 
wistfully,  half  to  herself. 

"  Thou  art  in  too  great  a  hurry,  sweetheart.  There  is 
plenty  of  time.  The  stars  are  barely  lit,  and  star-time  is 
ever  our  time." 

He  set  his  teeth  over  the  words;  "but  the  glow  and  the 
glamour  should  not  fail  her  yet.  He  would  take  her 
back  with  him  while  he  could  to  the  past  which  had  been 
so  full  of  it. 

"  Come  slower,  my  bird,  I  am  waiting,"  he  said  again 
as  the  jingling  cadence  ceased  once  more. 

"It  is  so  strange"  she  gasped;  "I  feel  so  strange." 
And  even  in  the  dim  light  he  could  see  a  vague  terror, 
a  pitiful  amaze  in  her  face.  That  must  not  be.  That 
must  be  stopped.  "  And  it  is  strange,"  he  answered 
quickly.  "  Strange,  indeed,  for  me  to  wait  like  a  king, 
when  thou  art  my  queen !  " 

A  faint  smile  drove  the  wonder  away,  a  faint  laugh 
mingled  with  the  chiming  and  clashing.  She  was  like 
a  wounded  bird,  he  thought,  as  he  watched  her;  a 
wounded  bird  fluttering  to  find  shelter  from  death. 


4°  ON    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

"  Take  care!  Take  care  of  the  step!  "  he  cried,  as  a 
stumble  made  him  start  forward ;  but  when  she  recovered 
herself  blindly  he  stood  still  once  more,  waiting.  Let 
her  come  if  she  could.     Let  her  keep  the  glamour. 

Keep  it!  She  had  done  more  than  that.  She  had 
given  it  back  to  him  at  its  fullest,  as,  close  at  hand  he  saw 
her  radiant  face,  and  his  outstretched  hands  met  hers 
warm  and  clasping.  The  touch  of  them  made  him  for- 
get all  else;  he  drew  her  close  to  him  passionately.  She 
gave  a  smiling  sob  of  sheer  content,  raising  her  face  to 
meet  his  kisses. 

"  I  have  come,"  she  whispered.  "  I  have  come  to  my 
king."  Her  voice  ended  like  a  sigh.  Then  there  was 
silence,  a  fainter  sigh,  then  silence  again. 

"  Zora!  "  he  called  with  a  sudden  dread  at  his  heart. 
"  WhatisitPZora!  Zoral' 

Half  an  hour  afterward,  Tara  Devi,  obeying  her 
master's  summons,  fotmd  him  standing  beside  the  bed, 
which  he  had  dragged  out  under  the  stars,  and  flung  up 
her  arms  to  give  the  wail  for  what  she  saw  there. 

"Hush!"  he  said  sternly,  clutching  at  her  shoulder. 
"  I  will  not  have  her  disturbed." 

Tara  looked  at  him  wonderingly.  "  There  is  no  fear 
of  that,"  she  replied  clearly,  loudly,  "  none  shall  disturb 
Zora  again.  She  hath  found  that  freedom  in  the  future. 
For  the  rest  of  us,  God  knows!  The  times  are  strange. 
So  let  her  have  her  right  of  wailing,  master.  She  will 
feel  silent  in  the  grave  without  the  voices  of  her  race." 

He  drew  his  hand  away  sharply;  even  in  death  a  great 
gulf  lay  between  him  and  the  woman  he  had  loved. 

So  the  death  wail  rang  out  clamorously  through  the 
soft  dark  air. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

TAPE   AND    SEALING-WAX. 

"  I  can't  think,"  said  a  good-looking  middle-aged  man 
as  he  petulantly  pushed  aside  a  pile  of  official  papers, 
"  where  Dashe  picks  these  things  up.  T  never  come 
across  them.     And  it  is  not  as  'f  he  were  in  a  big  station 


TAPE  AND   SEALING-WAX.  4 1 

or — or  in  the  swim  in  any  way."  He  spoke  fretfully,  as 
one  might  who,  having  done  his  best,  has  failed.  And 
he  had  grounds  for  this  feeling,  since  the  fact  that  the 
diffident  district-officer  named  Dashe  was  not  in  the 
swim,  must  clearly  have  been  due  to  his  official  supe- 
riors; the  speaker  being  one  of  them. 

Fortunately,  however,  for  England,  these  diffident  sons 
of  hers  cannot  always  hide  their  lights  under  bushels. 
As  the  biographies  of  many  Indian  statesmen  show, 
some  outsider  notices  a  gleam  of  common  sense  amid  the 
gloom,  and  steers  his  course  by  it.  Now  Mr.  Dashe's 
intimate  knowledge  of  a  certain  jungle  tract  in  this  dis- 
trict had  resulted  in  a  certain  military  magnate  bagging 
three  tigers.  From  this  to  a  reliance  on  his  political  per- 
ceptions is  not  so  great  a  jump  as  might  appear;  since 
a  man  acquainted  with  the  haunt  of  every  wald  beast  in 
his  jurisdiction  may  be  credited  with  knowledge  of  other 
dangerous  inhabitants.  So  much  so  that  the  military 
magnate,  being  impressed  by  some  casual  remarks,  had 
asked  Mr.  Dashe  to  put  down  his  views  on  paper,  and  had 
passed  them  on  to  a  great  political  light. 

It  was  he  who  sat  at  the  table  looking  at  a  broadsheet 
printed  in  the  native  character,  as  if  it  were  a  personal 
affront.  The  military  magnate,  who  had  come  over  to 
discuss  the  question,  was  lounging  in  an  easy-chair  with 
a  cheroot.  They  were  both  excellent  specimens  of 
Englishmen.  The  civilian  a  trifle  bald,  the  soldier 
a  trifle  gray;  but  one  glance  was  sufficient  to  judge  them 
neither  knaves  nor  fools. 

"  That's  the  proclamation  you're  at  now,  isn't  it? " 
asked  the  military  magnate,  looking  up,  "  I'm  afraid  I 
could  only  make  out  a  w^ord  here  and  there.  That's  the 
worst  of  Dashe.  He's  so  deuced  clever  at  the  vernacu- 
lars himself  that  he  imagines  other  people " 

The  political,  who  had  earned  his  first  elevation  from 
the  common  herd  to  the  Secretariat  by  a  nice  taste  in 
Persian  couplets  suitable  for  durbar  speeches,  smiled 
compassionately. 

"  ]\Iy  dear  sir!  This  is  not  even  shikiisf  [broken 
character].  It  is  lithographed,  and  plain  sailing  to  any- 
one not  a  fool — I  mean  to  anvone  on  the  civil  side,  of 


42  OJV    THE   FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

course — you  soldiers  have  not  to  learn  the  language. 
But  1  have  a  translation  here.  As  this  farrago  of  Dashe's 
must  go  to  Calcutta  in  due  course,  1  had  one  made  for 
the  Governor  General's  use." 

He  handed  a  paper  across  the  table,  and  then  turned 
to  the  next  paragraph  of  the  jeremiad. 

The  military  magnate  laid  down  his  cigar,  took  up  the 
document  and  glanced  at  it  apprehensively,  resumed  his 
cigar,  and  settled  himself  in  his  chair.  It  was  a  very 
comfortable  one  and  matched  the  office-room,  which, 
being  in  the  political  light's  private  house,  was  under  the 
supervision  of  his  wife,  who  was  a  notable  woman.  Her 
portrait  stood  in  the  place  of  honor  on  the  mantelpiece 
and  it  was  flanked  by  texts;  one  inculcating  the  virtue  of 
doing  as  you  would  be  done  by,  the  other  the  duty  of 
doing  good  without  ceasing.  Both  rather  dangerous 
maxims  when  you  have  to  deal  with  a  different  personal 
and  ethical  standard  of  happiness  and  righteous- 
ness. There  was  also  a  semicircle  of  children's  photo- 
graphs— of  the  kind  known  as  positives — on  the  table 
round  the  official  ink-pot.  When  the  sun  shone  on  their 
glasses,  as  it  did  now  through  a  western  window,  they 
dazzled  the  eyes.  Maybe  it  was  their  hypnotizing  in- 
fluence which  inclined  the  father  of  the  family  toward 
treating  every  problem  which  came  to  that  office-table 
as  if  the  first  desideratum  was  their  welfare,  their  appro- 
bation; not,  of  course,  as  his  children,  but  as  the  repre- 
sentative Englishmen  and  women  of  the  future.  Yet  he 
was  filled  with  earnest  desires  to  do  his  duty  by  those 
over  whom  he  had  been  set  to  rule,  and  as  he  read,  his 
sense  of  responsibility  was  simply  portentous,  and  his 
pen,  scratching  fluently  in  comments  over  the  half  mar- 
gin, was  full  of  wisdom.  This  sound  was  the  only  one 
in  the  room  save,  occasionally,  voices  raised  eagerly  in 
the  rehearsal  going  on  in  the  drawing  room  next  door. 
It  was  a  tragedy  in  aid  of  an  orphan  asylum  in  England 
which  the  notable  wife  was  getting  up;  and  once  her 
voice  could  be  heard  distinctly,  saying  to  her  daughter, 
"  Oh,  Elsie,  I'm  sure  you  could  die  better  than  that!  " 

Meanwhile  the  military  magnate  was  reading: 

"  I,    servant   of   God,    the    all-powerful,    and    of   the 


TAPE   AND   SEALING-WAX.  43 

prophet  Mohammed — to  whom  be  all  praise.  I,  Syyed 
Ahmed-Oolah,  the  dust  of  the  feet  of  the  descendants  of 
Huzrnt  Ameer-Oolah-Moomerccn-Ali-Moortuza,  the  Holy." 
He  shifted  uneasily,  looked  across  the  table,  appeared 
discouraged  by  that  even  scratching,  and  went  on : 

"  I,  Syyed  Ahmed,  after  preferring  my  salaams  and  the 
blessings  of  Holy  War,  to  all  believers  of  the  sect  of 
Sheeahs  or  the  sect  of  Sunnees  alike,  and  also  to  all  those 
having  respectful  regards  to  the  Faith,  declare  that  I, 
the  least  of  servants  in  the  company  of  those  waiting  on 
the  Prophet,  did  by  the  order  of  God  receive  a  Sword  of 
Honor,  on  condition  that  I  should  proclaim  boldly  to 
all  the  duty  of  combining  to  drive  out  Infidels.  In  this, 
therefore,  is  there  great  Reward;  as  is  written  in  the  Word 
of  God,  since  His  Gracious  Power  is  mighty  for  success. 
Yea!  and  if  any  fail,  will  they  not  be  rid  of  all  the  ends 
of  this  evil  world,  and  attain  the  Joys  and  Glories  of 
Martyrdom?  So  be  it.  A  sign  is  ever  sufficient  to  the 
intelligent,  and  the  Duty  of  a  servant  is  simply  to  point 
the  way." 

W'hen  he  had  finished  he  laid  the  document  down  on 
the  table,  and  for  a  minute  or  so  continued  to  pufif  at  his 
cigar.  Then  he  broke  silence  with  that  curious  con- 
straint in  his  tone  which  most  men  assume  when  reli- 
gious topics  crop  up  in  general  conversation.  "  I  wonder 
if  this— this  paper  is  to  be  considered  the  sign,  or  " — he 
hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  the  cadence  of  the  procla- 
mation being  suggestive,  he  finished  his  sentence  to 
match — "  or  look  we  for  another?  " 

"  Another!  "  retorted  his  companion  irritably.  "  Ac- 
cording to  Pashe  the  whole  of  India  is  one  vast  sign-post! 
He  seems  to  think  we  in  authority  are  blind  to  this.  On 
the  contrary,  there  is  scarcely  one  point  he  mentions 
which  is  not,  I  say  this  confidentially  of  course,  under 
inquiry.  I  have  the  files  in  my  confidential  box  here  and 
can  show  them  to  you  now.  No!  by  the  way,  the  head 
clerk  has  the  key — that  proclamation  had  to  be  trans- 
lated, of  course.  But,  naturally,  we  don't  proclaim  this 
on  the  housetops.  We  might  hurt  people's  feelings,  or 
give  rise  to  unfounded  hopes.  As  for  these  bazaar 
rumors  Dashe  retails  with  such  zest,  I  confess  I  think 


44  ON    THE  FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

it  undignified  for  a  district-officer  to  give  any  heed  to 
them.  They  are  inevitable  with  an  ignorant  population, 
and  we,  having  the  testimony  of  a  good  conscience," — he 
glanced  almost  unconsciously  at  the  mantelpiece, — 
"  should  disregard  these  ridiculous  lies.  Of  course  every- 
one— everyone  in  the  swim,  that  is — admits  that  the 
native  army  is  most  unsettled.  And  as  Sir  Charles 
Napier  declared,  mutiny  is  the  most  serious  danger 
in  the  future;  in  fact,  if  the  first  symptoms  are  not 
grappled  with,  it  may  shake  the  very  foundations. 
But  we  are  grai)pling  with  it,  just  as  we  are  grappling, 
quietly,  with  the  general  distrust.  That  was  a  most 
mischievous  paragraph,  by  the  way,  in  the  Chris- 
tian Observer,  jubilant  over  the  alarm  created  by  those 
first  widow  re-marriages  the  other  day.  So  was  that 
in  The  Friend  of  India,  calling  attention  to  the  fact  that  a 
regular  prayer  was  offered  up  in  all  the  mosques  for 
the  Restoration  of  the  Royal  f'amily.  We  don't  want 
these  things  noticed.  We  want  to  create  a  feeling  of 
security  by  ignoring  them.  That  is  our  policy.  Then 
as  for  Dashe's  political  news,  it  is  all  stale!  That  story, 
for  instance,  of  the.  Embassy  from  Persia,  and  of  the  old 
King  of  Delhi  having  turned  a  Slieeah " 

"  That  has  something  to  do  with  saying  Amen,  hasn't 
it?"  interrupted  the  military  magnate,  with  the  air  of 
one  determined  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  things  at  all  costs 
to  himself. 

The  political  light  smiled  in  superior  fashion.  "  Par- 
tially; but  politically — as  a  gauge,  I  mean,  to  probable 
antagonism — Sheeahs  and  Sunnees  are  as  wide  apart  as 
Protestants  and  Papists.  The  fact  that  -the  Royal 
Family  of  Oude  are  Sheeahs,  and  the  Delhi  one  Sunnees, 
is  our  safeguard.  Of  course  the  old  King's  favorite  wife, 
Zeenut  Maihl,  is  an  Oude  woman,  but  I  don't  credit  the 
rumors.  I  had  it  carefully  inquired  into,  however,  by 
a  man  who  has  special  opportunities  for  that  sort  of  work. 
A  very  intelligent  fellow,  Greyman  by  name.  He  has  a 
black  w'ife  or — or  something  of  that  sort,  which  of 
course  helps  him  to  understand  the  natives  better  than 
most  of  us  who — er — who  don't — you  understand " 


TAPE  AND   SEALING-WAX.  45 

The  military  magnate,  having  a  sense  of  humor, 
smiled  to  himself.  "  Perfectly,"  he  replied,  "  and  I'm  in- 
clined to  think  that  perhaps  there  is  something  to  be  said 
for  a  greater  laxity."  In  his  turn  he  glanced  at  the  man- 
telpiece, and  paused  before  that  immaculate  presence. 
"  The  proclamation,  however,"  he  went  on  hurriedly, 
"  appears  to  me  a  bit  dangerous.  Holy  War  is  awkward, 
and  a  religious  fanatic  is  a  tough  subject  even  to  the  regu- 
lars." He  had  seen  a  rush  of  Ghazees  once  and  the 
mem.ory  lingered. 

"  Undoubtedly.  And  as  we  have  pointed  out  again 
and  again  to  your  Department,  here  and  at  home,  the 
British  garrisons  are  too  scattered.  These  large  acces- 
sions of  territory  have  put  them  out  of  touch  with  each 
other.  But  that  again  is  being  grappled  with.  In  fact, 
personally,  I  believe  we  are  getting  on  as  well  as  can  be 
expected."  He  glanced  here  at  the  semicircle  of  chil- 
dren as  if  the  phrase  were  suggestive.  "  We  are  doing 
our  best  for  India  and  the  Indians.  Now  here,  in  Oude, 
things  are  wonderfully  ship-shape  already.  Despite 
Jackson  and  Gubbins'  tiffs  over  trifles  they  are  both 
splendid  workers,  and  Lucknow  was  never  so  well  gov- 
erned as  it  is  to-day." 

"  But  about  the  proclamation,"  persisted  his  hearer. 
"  Couldn't  you  get  some  more  information  about  it? 
That  Greyman,  for  instance." 

"  I'm  afraid  not.  He  refused  some  other  work  I 
offered  him  not  long  ago.  Said  he  was  going  home  for 
good.  I  sometimes  wish  I  could.  It  is  a  thankless  task 
slaving  out  here  and  being  misunderstood,  even  at  home. 
Being  told  in  so  many  words  that  the  very  system  under 
which  we  were  recruited  has  failed.  Poor  old  Hailey- 
bury!  I  only  hope  competition  will  do  as  well,  but  I  doubt 
it;  these  new  fellows  can  never  have  the  old  cspr'xi  de 
corps;  won't  come  from  the  same  class!  One  of  the 
Rajah's  people  was  questioning  me  about  it  only  this 
morning — they  read  the  English  newspapers,  of  course. 
'  So  we  are  not  to  have  sahibs  to  rule  over  us,'  he  said, 
looking  black  as  thunder.  '  Any  kraiii's  (lit.  low-caste 
English)  son  will  do,  if  he  has  learned  enough.'     I  tried 


4<J  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

to   explain "      Here   a   red-coated   orderly   entering 

with  a  card,  he  broke  off  into  angry  inquiries  why  he  was 
being  disturbed  contrary  to  orders. 

"  The  sahib  bade  me  bring  it,"  repHed  the  man,  as  if 
that  were  sufficient  excuse,  and  his  master,  looking  at 
the  card,  tossed  it  over  the  table  to  the  soldier,  who  ex- 
claimed: "  Talk  of  the  devil!  He  may  as  well  come  in,  if 
you  don't  mind." 

So  James  Greyman  was  ushered  in,  and  remained 
standing  between  the  civilian  and  the  soldier;  for  it  is 
not  given  to  all  to  have  the  fine  perceptions  of  the  native. 
The  orderly  had  unhesitatingly  classed  the  visitor  as  a 
"gentleman  to  be  obeyed";  but  the  Political  Depart- 
ment knew  him  only  as  a  reliable  source  of  information. 

"Well,  Greyman!  Have  you  brought  any  more 
news?  "  asked  the  civilian,  in  a  tone  intended  to  impress 
the  Military  Department  with  the  fact  that  here  was  one 
grapnel  out  of  the  many  which  were  being  employed 
in  bringing  truth  to  the  surface  and  securing  safety.  But 
the  soldier,  after  one  brief  look  at  the  newcomer,  sat  up 
and  squared  his  own  shoulders  a  bit. 

"  That  depends,  sir,"  replied  James  Greyman  quietly, 
"  whether  it  pays  me  to  bring  it  or  not.  I  told  you  last 
month  that  I  could  not  undertake  any  more  work,  be- 
cause I  was  leaving  India.  My  plans  have  changed;  and 
to  be  frank,  I  am  rather  hard  up.  If  you  could  give  me 
regular  employment  I  should  be  glad  of  it."  He  spoke 
with  the  utmost  deliberation,  but  the  incisive  finality  of 
every  word,  taking  his  hearers  unprepared,  gave  an  im- 
pression of  hurry  and  left  the  civilian  breathless.  James 
Greyman,  however,  having  said  what  he  had  come  to  say, 
said  no  more.  During  the  past  week  he  had  had  plenty 
of  time  to  make  up  his  mind,  or  rather  to  find  out  that  it 
was  made  up.  For  he  recognized  frankly  that  he  was 
acting  more  on  impulse  than  reason.  After  he  had  bur- 
ied poor  little  Zora  away  in  accordance  with  the  cus- 
toms of  her  people,  and  paid  his  racing  bets  and  general 
liabilities, — to  do  which  he  had  found  it  necessary  to  sell 
most  things,  including  the  very  horse  he  had  matched 
against  Major  Erlton's, — he  had  suddenly  found  out, 
rather   to   his   own   surprise,   that   the   idea   of   starting 


7'APE  AND   SEALLKG-WAX.  47 

again  on  the  old  lines  was  utterly  distasteful  to  him.  In 
a  lesser  degree  this  second  loss  of  his  future  and  severing 
of  ties  in  the  past  had  had  the  same  effect  upon  him  as 
the  previous  one.  It  had  left  him  reckless,  disposed  to 
defy  all  he  had  lost,  and  prove  himself  superior  to  ill- 
luck.  Then  being,  by  right  of  his  Celtic  birth,  imagina- 
tive, in  a  way  superstitious,  he  had  again  and  again  found 
liimself  thrown  back,  as  it  were,  upon  Kate  Erlton's 
appeal  for  that  chance,  to  bring  which  the  Spirit  might 
be,  even  now,  moving  on  the  waters.  It  was  that,  that 
only,  with  its  swift  touch  on  his  own  certainty  that  a 
storm  was  brewing,  which  had  made  him  yield  his  point; 
which  had  forced  him  into  yielding  by  an  unreasoning 
assent  to  her  suggestion  that  it  might  bring  a  chance  of 
atonement  with  it.  And  now,  in  calm  deliberation,  he 
confessed  that  he  might  find  his  chance  in  it  also;  a  better 
chance,  maybe,  than  he  would  have  had  in  England.  His 
only  one,  at  any  rate,  for  some  time  to  come.  Those 
gray-blue  northern  eyes  with  the  glint  of  steel  in  them 
had,  by  a  few  words,  changed  the  current  of  his  life.  The 
truth  was  unpalatable,  but  as  usual  he  did  not  attempt  to 
deny  it.  He  simply  cast  rovmd  for  the  best  course  in 
which  to  flow  toward  that  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men 
which  he  hoped  to  take  at  its  flood.  Political  employ- 
ment— briefly,  spy's  work — seemed, as  good  as  any  for  the 
present. 

"  Regular  employment,"  echoed  the  civilian,  recover- 
ing from  his  sense  of  hurry.  "  You  mean,  I  presume, 
as  a  news-writer." 

"  As  a  spy,  sir,"  interrupted  James  Greyman. 

The  political  light  disregarded  the  suggestion.  "  Your 
acquirements,  of  course,  would  Idc  suitable  enough;  but 
I  fear  there  are  no  native  courts  without  one.  And  the 
situation  hardly  calls  for  excess  expenditure.  But  of 
course,  any  isolated  douceur " 

His  hearer  smiled.  "  Call  it  payment,  sir.  But  I  think 
you  must  find  job-work  in  secret  intelligence  rather  ex- 
pensive. It  produces  such  a  crop  of  mare's-nests;  at 
least  so  I  have  found." 

The  suspicion  of  equality  in  the  remark  made  the  offi- 
cial mount  his  high  horse,  deftlv. 


48  O.V  THE   FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

"  Really,  we  have  so  many  reliable  sources  of  informa- 
tion, Mr.  Greyman,"  he  began,  laying  his  hand  as  if  casu- 
ally on  the  papers  before  him.  The  action  was  followed 
by  James  Greyman's  keen  eyes. 

"  You  have  the  proclamation  there,  I  see,"  he  said 
cheerfully.  "  I  thought  it  could  not  be  much  longer 
before  the  police  or  someone  else  became  aware  of  its 
existence.  The  jMoulvie  himself  was  here  about  a  week 
ago." 

,"  The  Moulvie — what  Moulvie?"  asked  the  military 
magnate  eagerly.  The  civilian,  however,  frowned.  If 
confidential  work  were  to  be  carried  out  on  those  lines, 
something,  even  if  it  were  only  ignorance,  must  be  found 
out. 

"  The  jMoulvie  of  Fyzabad "  began  James  Greyman. 

"  And  who ?  " 

"  My  dear  sir,"  interrupted  the  other  pettishly.  "  We 
really  know  all  about  the  Moulvie  of  Fyzabad.  His 
name  has  been  on  the  register  of  suspects  for  months." 
He  rose,  crossed  to  a  bookshelf,  and  coming  back  pro- 
cessionally  with  two  big  volumes,  began  to  turn  over  the 
pages  of  one. 

"  M — Mo — Ah!  Ma,  no  doubt.  That  is  correct, 
though  transliteration  is  really  a  difficult  task — to  be  con- 
sistent yet  intelligible  in  a  foreign  language  is No. 

It  must  be  under  F  in  the  first  volume.  F;  Fy.  Just  so! 
Here  we  are.  '  Fyzabad,  Moulvie  of — fanatic,  tall, 
medium  color,  mole  on  inside  of  left  shoulder.'  This  is 
the  man,  I  think?  " 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  the  mole,  sir,"  replied  James  Grey- 
man dryly,  "  but  he  is  a  magnificent  preacher,  a  consist- 
ent patriot,  a  born  organizer ;  and  he  is  now  on  his  way  to 
Delhi." 

"To  Delhi?"  echoed  the  civihan  pettishly.  "What 
can  a  man  of  the  stamp  you  say  he  is  want  with  Delhi? 
A  sham  court,  a  miserable  pantaloon  of  a  king,  the  prey 
of  a  designing  woman  who  fiatters  his  dotage.  I  admit 
he  is  the  representative  of  the  Moghul  dynasty,  but  its 
record  for  the  last  hundred  and  fifty  years  is  bad  enough 
surely  to  stamp  out  sentiment  of  that  sort." 

"  Prince  Charles  Edward  was  not  a  very  admirable  per- 


TAPE  AND   SEALING-WAX.  49 

son,  nor  the  record  of  the  Stuarts  a  very  glorious  one, 

and  yet  my  grandfather "     James  Greyman  pulled 

himself  up  sharply,  and  seeing  an  old  prayer-book  lying 
on  the  table,  which,  with  the  alternatives  of  a  bottle  of 
Ganges  water  and  a  copy  of  the  Koran,  lay  ready  for  the 
discriminate  swearing  of  witnesses,  finished  his  sentence 
by  opening  the  volume  at  a  certain  Office,  and  then  plac- 
ing the  open  book  on  the  top  of  the  proclamation.  "  It 
will  be  no  news  to  you,  sir,  that  prayers  of  that  sort  are 
being  used  in  all  the  mosques.  Of  course  here,  in  Luck- 
now,  they  are  for  my  late  master's  return.  But  if  anything 
comparable  to  the  15  or  the  '45  were  to  come,  Delhi  must 
be  the  center.  It  is  the  lens  which  would  focus  the 
largest  area,  the  most  rays;  for  it  appeals  to  greed  as 
well  as  good,  to  this  world  as  well  as  the  next." 

"  Do  you  think  it  a  center  of  disaffection  now,  j\Ir. 
Greyman?  "  asked  the  military  magnate  with  an  emphasis 
on  the  title. 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir.  Zeenut  Maihl,  the  Queen,  has 
court  intrigues,  but  they  are  of  little  consequence." 

"  I  disagree,"  protested  the  Political.  "  You  require 
the  experience  of  a  lifetime  to  estimate  the  enormous  in- 
fluence  " 

"  Wliat  do  you  consider  of  importance,  then?"  inter- 
rupted the  soldier  rather  cavalierly,  leaning  across  the 
table  eagerly  to  look  at  James  Greyman.  There  was  an 
instant's  silence,  during  which  those  voices  rehearsing 
were  clearly  audible.  The  tragedy  had  apparently 
reached  a  climax. 

"That;  and  this."  He  pointed  to  the  Proclamation, 
and  a  small  fragment  of  something  which  he  took  from 
his  waistcoat  pocket  and  laid  beside  the  paper.  The 
civilian  inspected  it  curiously,  the  soldier,  leaving  his 
chair,  came  round  to  look  at  it  also.  The  sunny  room 
was  full  of  peace  and  solid  security  as  those  three  Eng- 
lishmen, with  no  lack  of  pluck  and  brains,  stood  round 
the  white  fragment. 

"  Looks  like  bone,"  remarked  the  soldier. 

"  It  is  bone,  and  it  was  found,  so  I  heard  in  the 
bazaar  to-dav,  at  the  bottom  of  a  Commissariat  flour- 
sack " 


50  OJ^   THE  FACE   OE   THE    WATERS. 

James  Greyman  was  interrupted  by  a  relieved  pshaw! 
from  the  PoHtical. 

"The  old  story,  eh,  Greyman!  I  wonder  what  next 
these  ignorant  fools " 

"  When  the  ignorant  fools  happen  to  be  drilled  sol- 
diers, and,  in  Bengal,  outnumber  our  English  troops  by 
twenty-four  to  one,"  retorted  James  Greyman  sharply, 
"  it  seems  a  work  of  supererogation  to  ask  what  they  will 

do  next.     If  I  were  in  their  place However,  if  I 

may  tell  you  how  that  came  into  my  hands  you  will  per- 
haps be  able  to  grasp  the  gravity  of  the  situation." 

"  Won't  you  take  a  chair?  "  asked  the  soldier  quickly. 

James  Greyman  glanced  at  the  Political.  "  No, 
thanks,  I  won't  be  long.  There  is  a  class  of  grain  car- 
riers called  Bunjarahs.  They  keep  herds  of  oxen,  and 
have  carried  supplies  for  the  Royal  troops  since  time  im- 
memorial. They  have  a  charter  engraved  on  a  copper 
breastplate.  I've  only  seen  a  copy,  for  the  original 
Jhungi  and  Bhungi  lived  ages  ago  in  Rajpootana.  It 
runs  so: 

"While  Jhungi  Bhungi's  oxen 
Carry  the  army's  corn, 
House-thatch  to  feed  their  flocks  on, 
House-water  ready  drawn. 
Three  murders  daily  sliriven. 
These  rights  to  them  are  given, 
While  Jhungi  Bhungi's  oxen 
Carry  the  army's  corn." 

"  Preposterous,"  murmured  the  civilian.  "  Tliat's  at 
an  end,  anyhow." 

"  Naturally;  for  they  no  longer  carry  the  corn.  The 
method  is  too  slow,  too  Eastern  for  our  Commissariat. 
But  the  Oude  levies  used  to  employ  them.  So  did  I  at 
the  stables.  This  is  over  also,  and  wdien  I  last  saw  my 
tanda — that's  a  caravan  of  them,  sir — they  were  sub-con- 
tracting under  a  rich  Hindoo  firm  which  was  dealing  di- 
rect with  the  Department.     They  didn't  like  it." 

"  Still  you  can't  deny  that  the  growth  of  a  strong,  con- 
tented commercial  class  with  a  real  stake  in  the 
country "  began  the  civilian  hurriedly. 

"  That    sounds    like    the    home-counties    or   a    vestry 


TAPE   AND   SEALING-WAX.  51 

board,"  interrupted  his  hearer  dryly.  "  The  worst  of  it, 
in  this  case,  being  that  you  have  to  get  your  content  out 
of  the  petty  dealers  like  these  Bunjarahs.  I  came  upon 
one  yesterday  telling  a  circle  of  admirers,  in  the  strictest 
confidence  of  course,  lest  the  Sirkar  should  kill  him  for 
letting  the  cat  out  of  the  bag,  that  he  had  found  that  bit 
of  bone  at  the  bottom  of  a  Commissariat  sack  he  bought 
to  mend  his  own.  The  moral  being,  of  course,  that  it 
was  safer  to  buy  from  him.  But  he  was  only  half 
through  when  I,  knowing  the  scoundrel,  fell  on  him  and 
thrashed  him  for  lying.  The  audience  approved,  and 
assented  to  his  confession  that  it  was  a  He;  but  only  to 
please  me,  the  man  with  the  stick.  And  as  for  Jhungi, 
he  will  tell  the  tale  with  additional  embellishments  in  every 
village  to  which  the  caravan  goes;  unless  someone  is 
there  to  thrash  him  if  he  does." 

"  Scoundrel,"  muttered  the  soldier  angrily. 

'"  Or  saint,"  added  James  Greyman.  "  He  will  be  that 
when  he  comes  to  believe  his  own  story  of  having 
burned  the  sack  rather  than  use  it.  That  won't  be  long. 
Then  he  will  be  much  more  dangerous.  However,  if 
there  is  no  place  vacant  for  me,  sir " 

"  If  you  would  not  mind  waiting  a  minute "  began 

the  military  magnate,  with  a  hasty  look  at  the  Political. 

James  Greyman  bowed,  and  retired  discreetly  to  the 
window.  It  looked  out  upon  just  such  another  garden 
as  Kate  Erlton's,  and  the  remembrance  provoked  the 
cynical  question  as  to  what  the  devil  he  was  doing  in  that 
galley.  Racing  was  a  far  safer  way  of  making  money 
than  acting  as  a  spy;  to  no  purpose  possibly,  at  least  so 
far  as  his  own  chance  was  concerned. 

Yet  five  minutes  after,  when  the  Political  was  writing 
him  out  a  safe  conduct  in  the  event  of  his  ever  getting 
into  difficulties  with  the  authorities,  he  interrupted  the 
scratching  of  the  pen  to  say,   suddenly : 

"If  you  would  make  it  out  in  my  own  name,  sir,  I 
should  prefer  it.  James  Sholto  Douglas,  late  of  the 
th  Regiment." 

"  Hml  "  said  the  military  magnate  thoughtfully  when 
the  new  employee  in  the  Secret  Intelligence  Department 
left    the    room.     "  So    that    is    Jim    Douglas,    is    it?     I 


52  ON    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

thought  he  was  a  service  man  by  the  set  of  his  shoulders. 
Jim  Douglas.  I  remember  his  case  when  I  was  in  the 
A.-G.'s  office." 

"  What  was  it?  "  asked  the  civilian  curiously. 

"  Oh,  a  woman,  of  course.  I  forget  the  details,  she 
was  the  wife  of  his  major,  a  drunken  beast.  There  was 
something  about  a  blow,  and  she  didn't  back  him  up; 
saved  her  reputation,  you  understand.  But  he  was  an 
uncommonly  smart  officer,  I  know  that." 


CHAPTER  V. 

bravo! 

The  Gissings'  house  stood  in  a  large  garden;  but 
though  it  was  wreathed  with  creepers,  and  set  with 
flowers  after  the  manner  of  flowerful  Lucknow,  there  was 
no  cult  of  pansies  or  such  like  English  treasures  here. 
It  was  gay  with  that  acclimatized  tangle  of  poppies  and 
larkspur,  marigold,  mignonette,  and  corn  cockles  which 
Indian  gardeners  love  to  sow  broadcast  in  their  cartwheel 
mud-beds;  "  powder  of  flowers"  they  call  the  mixed 
seeds  they  save  for  it  from  year  to  year. 

In  the  big  dark  dining  room  also — where  Alice  Gis- 
sing,  looking  half  her  years  in  starch,  white  muslin,  and 
blue  ribbons,  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table — there  was  no 
cult  of  England.  Everything  was  frankly,  stanchly  of 
the  nabob  and  pagoda-tree  style;  for  the  Gissings  pre- 
ferred India,  where  they  were  received  into  society,  to 
England,  where  they  would  have  been  out  of  it. 

It  had  been  one  those  heavy  luncheons,  beginning 
with  many  meats  and  much  bottled  beer,  ending  with 
much  madeira  and  many  cigars,  which  sent  the  insurance 
rate  for  India  up  to  war  risks  in  those  days. 

And  there  was  never  any  scarcity  of  the  best  beer  at 
the  Gissings',  seeing  that  he  had  the  contract  for  supply- 
ing it  to  the  British  troops.  His  wife,  however,  preferred 
solid-looking  porter  with  a  creamy  head  to  it,  and  a 
heavy  odor  which  lingered  about  her  pretty  smiling  lips. 


BRA  VO  !  53 

It  was  a  most  incongruous  drink  for  one  of  her  appear- 
ance; but  it  never  seemed  to  affect  either  her  gay  httle 
body  or  gay  Httle  brain;  the  one  remained  youthful,  slen- 
der, the  other  brightly,  uncompromisingly  clear. 

She  had  been  married  twice.  Once  in  extreme  youth 
to  a  clerk  in  the  Opium  Department,  who  owed  the  good 
looks  which  had  attracted  her  to  a  trace  of  dark  blood. 
Then  she  had  chosen  wealth  in  the  person  of  Mr.  Gissing. 
Had  he  died,  she  would  probably  have  married  for 
position;  since  she  had  a  catholic  taste  for  the  amenities 
of  life.  But  he  had  not  died,  and  she  had  lived  with  him 
for  ten  years  in  good-natured  toleration  of  all  his  claims 
upon  her.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  did  not  affect  her  in 
the  least,  and  in  her  clear,  high  voice,  she  used  to  wonder 
openly  why  other  women  worried  over  matrimonial 
troubles  or  fussed  over  so  slight  an  encumbrance  as  a 
husband.  In  a  way  she  felt  ecjual  to  more  than  one, 
provided  they  did  not  squabble  over  her.  That  was  un- 
pleasant, and  she  not  only  liked  things  to  be  pleasant, 
but  had  the  knack  of  making  them  so;  both  to  the  man 
whose  name  she  bore,  and  whose  house  she  used  as  a 
convenient  spot  wherein  to  give  luncheon  parties,  and 
to  the  succession  of  admirers  who  came  to  them  and 
drank  her  husband's  beer. 

He  was  a  vulgar  creature,  but  an  excellent  business 
man,  with  a  knack  of  piling  up  the  rupees  which  made 
the  minor  native  contractors,  whose  trade  he  was  gradu- 
ally absorbing,  gnash  their  teeth  in  sheer  envy.  For 
the  Western  system  of  risking  all  to  gain  all  was  too 
much  opposed  to  the  Eastern  one  of  risking  nothing  to 
gain  little  for  the  hereditary  merchants  to  adopt  it  at  once. 
They  have  learned  the  trick  of  fence  and  entered  the 
lists  successfully  since  then;  but  in  1856  the  foe  was  new. 
So  they  fawned  on  the  shrewd  despoiler  instead,  and 
curried  favor  by  bringing  his  wife  fruits  and  sweets,  with 
something  costlier  hidden  in  the  oranges  or  sugar  drops. 
Alice  Gissing  accepted  everything  with  a  smile;  for  her 
husband  was  not  a  Government  serv^ant.  The  contracts, 
however,  being  for  Government  supplies,  the  givers  did 
not  discriminate  the  position  so  nicely.  They  used  to 
complain  that  the  Sirkar  robbed  them  both  ways,  much 


54  OIV    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

to  Mr.  Gissing's  amusement,  who,  as  a  method  of  self- 
glorification,  would  allude  to  it  at  the  luncheon  parties 
where  many  men  used  to  come.  Men  who,  between  the 
intervals  of  badinage  with  the  gay  little  hostess,  could 
talk  with  authority  on  most  affairs.  They  did  not  brinfj 
their  wives  with  them,  but  Alice  Gissing  did  not  seem  to 
mind;  she  did  not  get  on  with  women. 

"So  they  complain  I  rob  them,  do  they?"  he  said 
loudly,  complacently,  to  the  men  on  either  side  of  him. 
"My  dear  Colonel!  an  Englishman  is  bound  to  rob  a 
native  if  that  means  creaming  the  market,  for  they 
haven't  been  educated,  sir,  on  those  sound  commercial 
principles  which  have  made  England  the  first  nation  in 
the  world.  Take  this  flour  contract  they  are  howling 
about.  I'm  beer  by  rights,  of  course,  and,  by  George, 
I'm  proud  of  it.  Your  men.  Colonel,  can't  do  without 
beer;  England  can't  do  without  soldiers;  so  my  business 
is  sound.  But  why  shouldn't  I  have  my  finger  in  any 
other  pie  which  holds  money?  These  hereditary  fools 
think  I  shouldn't,  and  they  were  trying  a  ring,  sir.     Ha! 

ha!  an  absurd  upside-down  d d  Oriental  ring  based  on 

utterly  rotten  principles.  You  can't  keep  up  the  price 
of  a  commodity  because  your  grandfather  got  that  price. 
They  ignored  the  facility  of  transport  given  by  roads, 
etc.,  ignored  the  right  of  government  to  benefit — er — 
slightly — by  these  outlays.  Commerce  isn't  a  selfish 
thing,  sir,  by  gad.  If  you  don't  consider  your  market 
a  bit,  you  won't  find  one  at  all.  So  I  stepped  in,  and  made 
thousands;  for  the  Commissariat,  seeing  the  saving  here, 
of  course  asked  me  to  contract  for  other  places.  It 
serves  the  idiots  uncommon  well  right;  but  it  will  benefit 
them  in  the  end.  If  they're  to  face  Western  nations  they 
must  learn — er — the — the  morality  of  speculation."  He 
paused,  helped  himself  to  another  glass  of  madeira,  and 
added  in  an  unctuous  tone,  "  but  till  they  do,  India's  a 
good  place." 

"  Is  that  Gissing  preaching  morality?  "  asked  his  wife, 
in  her  clear,  high  voice.  The  men  at  her  end  of  the 
table  had  had  their  share  of  her;  those  others  might 
be  getting  bored  by  her  husband. 

*'  Only  the  morality  of  business,"  put  in  a  coarse-look- 


BRAVO!  55 

ing  fellow  who,  having  been  betwixt  and  between  the 
conversations,  had  been  drinking  rather  heavily. 
"  There's  no  need  for  you  to  join  the  ladies  as  yet,  Mrs. 
Gissing." 

Major  Erlton,  at  her  right  hand,  scowled,  and  the  boy 
on  her  left  flushed  up  to  the  eyes.  He  was  her  latest  ad- 
mirer, and  was  still  in  the  stage  when  she  seemed  an 
angel  incarnate.  Only  the  day  before  he  had  wanted 
to  call  out  a  cynical  senior  who  had  answ'ered  his 
vehement  wonder  as  to  how  a  woman  like  she  was  could 
have  married  a  little  beast  like  Gissing,  with  the  irrever- 
ent suggestion  that  it  might  be  because  the  name  rhymed 
with  kissing. 

In  the  present  instance  she  heeded  neither  the  scowl 
nor  the  flush,  and  her  voice  came  calmly.  "  I  don't  in- 
tend to,  doctor.  I  mean  to  send  you  into  the  drawing 
room  instead.  That  will  be  quite  as  effectual  to  the 
proprieties." 

Amid  the  laugh.  Major  Erlton  found  opportunity  for 
an  admiring  whisper.  She  had  got  the  brute  well  above 
the  belt  that  time.  But  the  boy's  flush  deepened;  he 
looked  at  his  goddess  with  pained,  perplexed  eyes. 

"  The  morality  of  speculation  or  gambling,"  retorted 
the  doctor,  speaking  slowly  and  staring  at  the  delighted 
Major  angrily,  "  is  the  art  of  winning  as  much  money 
as  you  can — conveniently.  That  reminds  me,  Erlton; 
you  must  have  raked  in  a  lot  over  that  match." 

A  sudden  dull  red  showed  on  the  face  whose  admira- 
tion Alice  was  answering  by  a  smile. 

"  I  won  a  lot,  also,"  she  interrupted  hastily,  "  thanks 
to  your  tip,  Erlton.     You  never  forget  your  friends." 

"  No  one  could  forget  you — there  is  no  merit "  be- 
gan the  boy  hastily,  then  pausing  before  the  publicity  of 
his  own  words,  and  bewildered  by  the  smile  now  given  to 
him.  Herbert  Erlton  noted  the  fact  sullenly.  He 
knew  that  for  the  time  being  all  the  little  lady's  personal 
interest  was  his ;  but  he  also  knew  that  was  not  nearly  so 
much  as  he  gave  her.  And  he  wanted  more,  not  under- 
standing that  if  she  had  had  more  to  give  she  would 
probably  have  been  less  generous  than  she  was;  being 
Qf  that  class  of  women  who  sin  because  the  sin  has  no 


56  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

appreciable  effect  on  them.  It  leaves  them  strangely, 
inconceivably  unsoiled.  This  imperviousness,  however, 
being,  as  a  rule,  considered  the  man's  privilege  only, 
Major  Erlton  failed  to  understand  the  position,  and  so, 
feeling  aggrieved,  turned  on  the  lad. 

"  I'll  remember  you  the  next  time  if  you  like.  Main- 
waring,"  he  said,  "  but  someone  has  to  lose  in  every 
game.  I'd  grasped  that  fact  before  I  w^as  your  age,  and 
made  up  my  mind  it  shouldn't  be  me." 

"Sound  commercial  morality!"  laughed  another 
guest.  "  Try  it,  Mainwaring,  at  the  next  Gymkhana. 
By  the  way,  I  hear  that  professional,  Greyman,  is  off,  so 
amateurs  will  have  a  chance  now;  he  was  a  devilish  fine 
rider." 

"  Rode  a  devilish  fine  horse,  too,"  put  in  the  unap- 
peased  doctor.     "  You  bought  it,  Erlton,  in  spite " 

"Yes!  for  fifteen  hundred,"  interrupted  the  Major,  in 
unmistakable  defiance.  "  A  long  price,  but  there  was 
hanky-panky  in  that  match.  Greyman  tried  fussing  to 
cover  it.  You  never  can  trust  professionals.  How- 
ever, I  and  my  -friends  won,  and  I  shall  win  again  with 
the  horse.  Take  you  evens  in  gold  mohurs  for  the 
next " 

There  was  always  a  sledge-hammer  method  in  the 
Major's  fence,  and  the  subject  dropped. 

The  room  was  heavy  with  the  odors  of  meats  and 
drinks.  Dark  as  it  w^as,  the  flood  of  sunshine  streaming 
into  the  veranda  outside,  where  yellow'  hornets  were 
buzzing  and  the  servants  washing  up  the  dishes,  sent  a 
glare  even  into  the  shadows.  Neither  the  furniture  nor 
appointments  of  the  room  owed  anything  to  the  East — 
for  Indian  art  was,  so  to  speak,  not  as  yet  invented  for 
English  folk — yet  there  was  a  strange  unkennedness 
about  their  would-be  familiarity  wdiich  suddenly  struck 
the  latest  exile,  young  Mainwaring. 

"  India  is  a  beastly  hole,"  he  said,  in  an  undertone — 
"  things  are  so  different — I  wish  I  were  out  of  it."  There 
was  a  note  of  appeal  in  his  young  voice;  his  eyes,  meet- 
ing Alice  Gissing's,  filled  with  tears  to  his  intense  dismay. 
He  hoped  she  might  not  see  them;- but  she  did,  and 
leaned  over  to  lay  one  kindly  be-ringed  little  hand  on  the 
table  quite  close  to  his. 


BRAVO!  57 

"  You've  got  liver,"  she  said  confidentially.  "  India 
is  quite  a  nice  place.  Come  to  the  assembly  to-night, 
and  I  will  give  you  two  extras — whole  ones.  And  don't 
drink  any  more  madeira,  there  is  a  good  boy.  Come  and 
have  coffee  with  me  in  the  drawing  room  instead;  that 
will  set  you  right." 

Less  has  set  many  a  boy  hopelessly  wrong.  To  do 
Alice  Gissing  justice,  however,  she  never  recognized  such 
facts;  her  own  head  being  quite  steady.  But  Major 
Erlton  understood  the  possible  results  perfectly,  and  com- 
mented on  them  when,  as  a  matter  of  course,  his  long 
length  remained  lounging  in  an  easy-chair  after  the  other 
guests  had  gone,  and  Mr.  Gissing  had  retired  to  business. 
People,  from  the  Palais  Royale  playwrights,  downward 
— or  upward — always  poke  fun  at  the  husbands  in  such 
situations;  but  no  one  jibes  at  the  man  who  succeeds  to 
the  cut-and-dried  necessity  for  devotion.  Yet  there  is 
surely  something  ridiculous  in  the  spectacle  of  a  man 
playing  a  conjugal  part  without  even  a  sense  of  duty  to 
give  him  dignity  in  it,  and  the  curse  of  the  commonplace 
comes  as  quickly  to  Abelard  and  Heloise  as  it  does  to 
Darby  and  Joan.  So  Major  Erlton,  lounging  and  com- 
menting, might  well  have  been  Mrs.  Gissing's  legal 
owner.  "  Going  to  make  a  fool  of  that  lad  now,  I  sup- 
pose, Allie.  \Miy  the  devil  should  you  when  you  don't 
care  for  boys?  " 

She  came  to  a  stand  in  front  of  him  like  a  child,  her 
hands  behind  her  back,  but  her  china-blue  eyes  had  a 
world  of  shrewdness  in  them.  "  Don't  I?  Do  you  think 
I  care  for  men  either?  I  don't.  You  just  amuse  me,  and 
Pve  got  to  be  amused.  By  the  way,  did  you  remember 
to  order  the  cart  at  five  sharp?  I  want  to  go  round  the 
Fair  before  the  Club." 

If  they  had  been  married  ten  times  over,  their  spending 
the  afternoon  together  could  not  have  been  more  of  a 
foregone  conclusion;  there  seemed,  indeed,  no  choice  in 
the  matter.  And  they  were  prosaically  punctual,  too; 
at  "  five  sharp  "  they  climbed  into  the  high  dog-cart 
boldly,  in  face  of  a  whole  posse  of  servants  dressed  in 
the  nabob  and  pagoda-tree  style,  also  with  silver  crests  in 
their  pith  turbans  and  huge  monograms  on  their  breast- 


58  ON    THE   FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

plates;  old-fashioned  servants  with  the  most  antiquated 
notions  as  to  the  needs  of  the  sahib  lognc,  and  a  fund 
of  passive  resentment  for  the  least  change  in  the  inher- 
ited routine  of  service.  Changes  which  they  referred  to 
the  fact  that  the  new-fangled  sahibs  were  not  real  sahibs. 
But  the  heavy,  little  and  big  breakfasts,  the  unlimited 
beer,  the  solid  dinners,  the  milk  punch  and  brandy  pani, 
all  had  their  appointed  values  in  the  Gissings'  house;  so 
the  servants  watched  their  mistress  with  approving 
smiles.  And  on  Mondays  there  was  always  a  larger 
posse  than  usual  to  see  the  old  Mai,  who  had  been  Alice 
Gissing's  ayah  for  years  and  years,  hand  up  the  bouquet 
wdiich  the  gardener  always  had  ready,  and  say,  "  My 
salaams  to  the  missy-baba."  Mrs.  Gissing  used  to  take 
the  flowers  just  as  she  took  her  parasol  or  her  gloves. 
Then  she  would  say,  ''  All  right,"  partly  to  the  ayah, 
partly  to  her  cavalier,  and  the  dog-cart,  or  buggy,  or 
mail-phaeton,  whichever  it  happened  to  be,  would  go 
spinning  away.  For  the  old  Mai  had  handed  the  flowers 
into  many  different  turn-outs  and  remained  on  the  steps 
ready  with  the  authority  of  age  and  long  service,  to  crush 
any  frivolous  remarks  newcomers  might  make.  But  the 
destination  of  the  bouquet  was  always  the  same ;  and  that 
was  to  stand  in  a  peg  tumbler  at  the  foot  of  a  tiny  white 
marble  cross  in  the  cemetery.  Mrs.  Gissing  put  a  fresh 
offering  in  it  every  Monday,  going  through  the  ceremony 
with  a  placid  interest;  for  the  date  on  the  cross  was  far 
back  in  the  years.  Still,  she  used  to  speak  of  the  little 
life  which  had  come  and  gone  from  hers  when  she  was 
yet  a  child  herself,  with  a  certain  self-possessed  plaintive- 
ness  born  of  long  habit. 

"  I  was  barely  seventeen,"  she  would  say,  "  and  it  was 
a  dear  little  thing.  Then  Saumarez  was  transferred,  and 
I  never  returned  to  Lucknow  till  I  married  Gissing.  It 
was  odd,  wasn't  it,  marrying  twice  to  the  same  station. 
But.  of  course,  I  can't  ask  him  to  come  here,  so  it  is 
doubly  kind  of  you;  for  I  couldn't  come  alone,  it  is  so 
sad." 

Her  blue  eyes  would  be  limpid  with  actual  tears;  yet 
as  she  waited  for  the  return  of  the  tumbler,  which  the 
watchman  alwavs  had  to  wash  out,  she  looked  more  like 


BRA  VO  !  59 

some  dainty  figure  on  a  cracker  than  a  weeping  Niobe. 
Nevertheless,  the  admirers  whom  she  took  in  succession 
into  her  confidence  thought  it  sweet  and  womanly  of  her 
never  to  have  forgotten  the  dead  baby,  though  they 
rather  admired  her  dislike  to  live  ones.  Some  of  them, 
when  their  part  in  the  weekly  drama  came  upon  them, 
as  it  always  did  in  the  first  flush  of  their  fancy  for  the 
principal  actress  in  it,  began  by  being  quite  sentimental 
over  it.  Herbert  Erlton  did.  He  went  so  far  once  as 
to  bring  an  additional  bouquet  of  pansies  from  his  wife's 
pet  bed ;  but  the  little  lady  had  looked  at  it  with  plaintive 
distrust.  "  Pansies  v.ithered  so  soon,"  she  said,  "  and  as 
the  bouquet  had  to  last  a  whole  week,  something  less 
fragile  was  better."  Indeed,  the  gardener's  bouquets, 
compact,  hard,  with  the  blossoms  all  jammed  into  little 
spots  of  color  among  the  protruding  sprigs  of  privet,  were 
more  suited  to  her  calm  permanency  of  regret,  than  the 
passionate  purple  posy  which  had  looked  so  pathetically 
out  of  place  in  the  big  man's  coarse  hands.  She  had 
taken  it  from  him,  however,  and  strewn  the  already 
drooping  flowers  about  the  marble.  They  looked  pretty, 
she  had  said,  though  the  others  were  best,  as  she  liked 
everything  to  be  tidy;  because  she  had  been  very,  very 
fond  of  the  poor  little  dear.  Saumarez  had  never  been 
kind,  and  it  had  been  so  pretty;  dark,  like  its  father,  who 
had  been  a  very  handsome  man.  She  had  cried  for  days, 
then,  though  she  didn't  like  children  now.  But  she 
would  always  remember  this  one,  always!  The  old  Mai 
and  she  often  talked  of  it;  especially  when  she  was 
dressing  for  a  ball,  because  the  gardener  brought 
bouquets  for  them  also. 

Major  Erlton,  therefore,  gave  no  more  pansies,  and  his 
sentiment  died  down  into  a  sort  of  irritable  wonder  what 
the  little  woman  would  be  at.  The  unreality  of  it  all 
struck  him  afresh  on  this  particular  Monday,  as  he 
watched  her  daintily  removing  the  few  fallen  petals;  so 
he  left  her  to  finish  her  task  while  he  walked  about.  The 
cemetery  was  a  perfect  garden  of  a  place,  with  rectangu- 
lar paths  bordered  by  shrubs  which  rose  from  a  tangle 
of  annual  flowers  like  that  around  the  Gissings'  house. 
This  blossoming  screen  hid  the  graves  for  the  most  part; 


6o  OiV    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

but  in  the  older  portions  great  domed  erections — gener- 
ally safeguarding  an  infant's  body — rose  above  it  more 
like  summer-houses  than  tombs.  Herbert  Erlton  pre- 
ferred this  part  of  the  cemetery.  It  was  less  suggestive 
than  the  newer  portion,  and  he  was  one  of  those  whole- 
some, hearty  animals  to  whom  the  very  idea  of  death  is 
horrible.  So  hither,  after  a  time,  she  came,  stepping 
daintily  over  the  graves,  and  pausing  an  instant  on  the 
way  to  add  a  sprig  of  mignonette  to  the  rosebud  she  had 
brought  from  a  bush  beside  the  cross;  it  was  a  fine, 
healthy  bush  which  yielded  a  constant  supply  of  buds 
suitable  for  buttonholes.  She  looked  charming,  but  he 
met  her  with  a  perplexed  frown. 

"I've  been  wondering,  Allie,"  he  said,  "  what  you 
would  have  been  like  if  that  baby  had  lived.  Would  you 
have  cared  for  it?  " 

Her  eyes  grew  startled,  "  But  I  do  care  for  it!  Why 
should  I  come  if  I  didn't?  It  isn't  amusing,  I'm  sure;  so 
I  think  it  very  unkind  of  you  to  suggest " 

''  I  never  suggested  anything,"  he  protested.     "  I  know 

you  did — that  you  do  care.     But  if  it  had  lived "  he 

paused  as  if  something  escaped  his  mental  grasp. 
"  Wliy,  I  expect  you  would  have  been  different  some- 
how; and  I  was  wondering " 

"  Oh!  don't  wonder,  please,  it's  a  bad  habit,"  she  re- 
plied, suddenly  appeased,  "  You  will  be  wondering 
next  if  I  care  for  you.     As  if  you  didn't  know  that  I  do." 

She  was  pinning  the  buttonhole  into  his  coat  methodi- 
cally, and  he  could  not  refuse  an  answering  smile ;  but  the 
puzzled  look  remained.  "  I  suppose  you  do,  or  you 
wouldn't "  he  began  slowly.  Then  a  sudden  emo- 
tion showed  in  face  and  voice.  "  You  slip  from  me 
somehow,  Allie — slip  like  an  eel.  I  never  get  a  real 
hold Well!  I  wonder  if  women  understand  them- 
selves? They  ought  to,  for  nobody  else  can,  that's  one 
comfort."  Whether  he  meant  he  was  no  denser  than 
previous  recipients  of  rosebuds,  or  that  mankind 
benefited  by  failing  to  grasp  feminine  standards,  was  not 
clear.  And  Mrs.  Gissing  was  more  interested  in  the  fact 
that  the  mare  was  growing  restive.  So  they  climbed  into 
the  high  dog-cart  again,  and  took  her  a  quieting  spin 


BRA  VO  !  01 

down  the  road.  The  fresh  wind  of  their  own  speed 
blew  in  their  faces,  the  mare's  feet  scarcely  seemed  to 
touch  the  ground,  the  trees  slipped  past  quickly,  the 
palm-squirrels  fled  chirruping.  He  flicked  his  whip 
gayly  at  them  in  boyish  fashion  as  he  sat  well  back,  his 
big  hand  giving  to  the  mare's  mouth.  Hers  lay  equably 
in  her  lap,  though  the  pace  would  have  made  most 
women  clutch  at  the  rail. 

"Jolly  little  beasts;  aint  they,  AlHe?  " 

"Jolly  altogether;  jolly  as  it  can  be,"  she  replied 
with  the  frank  delight  of  a  girl.  They  had  forgotten 
themselves  innocently  enough;  but  one  of  the  men  in  a 
dog-cart,  past  which  they  had  flashed,  put  on  an  outraged 
expression. 

"  Erlton  and  Mrs.  Gissing  again!  "  he  fussed.  "  I  shall 
tell  my  wife  to  cut  her.  Being  in  business  ourselves  we 
have  tried  to  keep  square.  But  this  is  an  open  scandal. 
I  wonder  Mrs.  Erlton  puts  up  with  it.     I  wouldn't." 

His  companion  shook  his  head.  "  Dangerous  work, 
saying  that.  Wait  till  you  are  a  woman.  I  know  more 
about  them  than  most,  being  a  doctor,  so  I  never  venture 
on  an  opinion.  But,  honestly,  I  believe  most  women — 
that  little  one  ahead  into  the  bargain — don't  care  a  button 
one  way  or  the  other.  And,  for  all  our  talk,  I  don't  be- 
lieve we  do  either,  when  all  is  said  and  done." 

"  What  is  said  and  done?  "  asked"  the  other  peevishly. 

There  was  a  pause.  The  lessening  dog-cart  with  its 
flutter  of  ribbons,  its  driver  sitting  square  to  his  work, 
showed  on  the  hard  white  road  which  stretched  like  a 
narrowing  ribbon  over  the  empty  plain.  Far  ahead  a 
little  devil  of  wind  swept  the  dust  against  the  blue  sky 
like  a  cloud.  Nearer  at  hand  lay  a  cluster  of  mud  hov- 
els, and — going  tow^ard  it  before  the  dog-cart — a  woman 
was  walking  along  the  dusty  side  of  the  road.  She  had 
a  bundle  of  grass  on  her  head,  a  baby  across  her  hip,  a 
toddling  child  clinging  to  her  skirts.  The  afternoon  sun 
sent  the  shadows  conglomerately  across  the  white  metal. 

"  Passion,  Love.  Lust,  the  attractions  of  sex  for  sex — 
what  you  will,"  said  the  doctor,  breaking  the  silence. 
"  Nothing  is  easier  knocked  out  of  a  man,  if  he  is  w^orth 
calling    one — a    bugle    call,    a    tight    corner God 


62  o.V    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

Almir^hty! — they're  over  that  child!  Drive  on  hke  the 
devil,  man,  and  let  me  see  what  I  can  do." 

There  is  never  much  to  do  when  all  has  been  done  in 
an  instant.  There  had  been  a  sudden  causeless  leaving 
of  the  mother's  side,  a  toddling  child  among  the  shadows, 
a  quick  oath,  a  mad  rear  as  the  mare,  checked  by  hands 
like  a  vise  for  strength,  snapped  the  shafts  as  if  they  had 
been  straws.  No  delay,  no  recklessness;  but  one  of  these 
iron-shod  hoofs  as  it  flung  out  had  caught  the  child  full 
on  the  temple,  and  there  was  no  need  to  ask  what  that 
curved  blue  mark  meant,  which  had  gone  crashing  into 
the  skull. 

Alice  Gissing  had  leaped  from  the  dog-cart  and  stood 
looking  at  the  pitiful  sight  with  wide  eyes. 

"  We  couldn't  do  anything,"  she  said  in  an  odd  hard 
voice,  as  the  others  joined  her.  "  There  was  nothing  we 
could  do.  Tell  the  woman,  Herbert,  that  we  couldn't 
help  it." 

But  the  Major,  making  the  still  plunging  mare  a  mo- 
mentary excuse  for  not  facing  the  ghastly  truth,  had, 
after  one  short,  sharp  exclamation — almost  of  fear, 
turned  to  help  the  groom.  So  there  was  no  sound 
for  a  minute  save  the  plunging  of  hoofs  on  the  hard 
ground,  the  groom's  cheerful  voice  lavishing  endear- 
ments on  his  restless  charge,  and  a  low  animal-like 
whimper  from  the  mother,  who,  after  one  wild  shriek, 
had  sunk  down  in  the  dust  beside  the  dead  child,  look- 
ing at  the  purple  bruise  dully,  and  clasping  her  living 
baby  tighter  to  her  breast.  For  it,  thank  the  gods! 
was  the  boy.  That  one  with  the  mark  on  its  forehead 
only  the  girl. 

Then  the  doctor,  who  had  been  bvisy  with  deft  but 
helpless  hands,  rose  from  his  knees,  saying  a  wor<l  or  two 
in  Hindustani  which  provoked  a  whining  reply  from  the 
woman, 

"  She  admits  it  was  no  one's  fault,"  he  said.  "  So 
Erlton,  if  you  will  take  our  dog-cart " 

But  the  Major  had  faced  the  position  by  this  time.  "  I 
can't  go.  She  is  a  camp  follower.  I  expect,  and  I  shall 
have  to  find  out — for  compensation  and  all  that.     If  you 


BRA  VO  !  63 

would  take  Mrs.   Gissing "     His  voice,   steady   till 

then,  broke  perceptibly  over  the  name;  its  owner  looked 
up  sharply,  and  going  over  to  him  laid  her  hand  on  his 
arm. 

"  It  wasn't  your  fault,"  she  said,  still  in  that  odd  hard 
voice.  "  You  had  the  mare  in  hand;  she  didn't  stir  an 
inch.  It  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  happen,  but " — she 
threw^  her  head  back  a  little,  her  wide  eyes  narrow^ed 
as  a  frown  puckered  her  smooth  forehead — "  it  isn't  as  if 
we  could  have  prevented  it.     The  thing  had  to  be." 

She  might  have  been  the  incarnation  of  Fate  itself  as 
she  glanced  down  at  the  dead  child  in  the  dust,  at  the 
living  one  reaching  from  its  mother's  arms  to  touch  its 
sister  curiously,  at  the  slow  tears  of  the  mother  herself 
as  she  acc[uiesced  in  the  eternal  fitness  of  things;  for  a 
girl  more  or  less  was  not  much  in  the  mud  hovel,  where 
she  and  her  man  lived  hardly,  and  the  Huzoors  w^ould 
doubtless  give  rupees  in  exchange,  for  they  were  just. 
She  wept  louder,  however,  when  with  conventional  wail- 
ing the  women  from  the  clustering  huts  joined  her,  while 
the  men,  frankly  curious,  listened  to  the  groom's  spirited 
description  of  the  incident. 

"  You  had  better  go,  Allie;  you  do  no  good  here,"  said 
the  Major  almost  roughly.  He  w^as  anxious  to  get 
through  with  it  all ;  he  was  absorbed  in  it. 

So  the  man  who  had  said  he  was  going  to  tell  his  wife 
to  cut  Mrs.  Gissing  had  to  help  her  into  the  dog-cart. 

"  It  was  horrible,  wasn't  it?  "  she  said  suddenly  when, 
in  silence,  they  had  left  the  little  tragedy  far  behind  them. 
"  We  were  going  an  awful  pace,  but  you  saw  he  had  the 
mare  in  hand.  He  is  awfully  strong,  you  know."  She 
paused,  and  a  reflectively  complacent  smile  stole  to  her 
face.  "  I  suppose  you  will  think  it  horrid,"  she  w'ent  on; 
"  but  it  doesn't  feel  to  me  like  killing  a  human  being, 
you  know.  I'm  sorry,  of  course,  but  I  should  have  been 
much  sorrier  if  it  had  been  a  white  babv.  Wouldn't 
you?" 

She  set  aside  his  evasion  remorselessly.  "  I  know  all 
that!  People  say,  of  course,  that  it  is  wricked  not  to  feel 
the  same  toward  people  w^hether  they're  black  or  white. 


64  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

But  we  don't.  And  they  don't  either.  They  feel  just 
the  same  about  us  because  we  are  white.  Don't  you 
think  they  do?  " 

"  The  antagonism  of  race "  he  began  sententiously, 

but  she  cut  him  short  again.  This  time  with  an  irrele- 
vant remark. 

"  I  wonder  what  your  wife  would  say  if  she  saw  me 
driving  in  your  dog-cart?  " 

He  stared  at  her  helplessly.  The  one  problem  was  as 
unanswerable  as  the  other. 

"  You  had  better  drive  round  the  back  way  to  the 
Fair,"  she  said  considerately.  "  Somebody  there  will 
take  me  ofT  your  hands.  Otherwise  you  will  have  to 
drive  me  to  the  Club;  for  I'm  not  going  home.  It  would 
be  dreadful  after  that  horrid  business.  Besides,  the  Fair 
will  cheer  me  up.  One  doesn't  understand  it,  you  know, 
and  the  people  crowd  along  like  figures  on  a  magic  lan- 
tern slide.  I  mean  that  you  never  know  what's  coming 
next,  and  that  is  always  so  jolly,  isn't  it?  " 

It  might  be,  but  the  man  with  the  \yife  felt  relieved 
when,  five  minutes  afterward,  she  transferred  herself  to 
young  Mainwaring's  buggy.  The  boy,  however,  felt  as 
if  an  angel  had  fluttered  down  from  the  skies  to  the  worn, 
broken-springed  cushion  beside  him;  an  angel  to  be 
guarded  from  humanity — even  her  own. 

"  How  the  beggars  stare,"  he  said  after  they  had 
walked  the  horse  for  a  space  through  the  surging  crowds. 
"  Let  us  get  away  from  the  grinning  apes."  He  would 
have  liked  to  take  her  to  paradise  and  put  flaming  swords 
at  the  gate. 

"  They  don't  grin,"  she  replied  curtly,  "  they  stare  like 
Bank-holiday  people  stare  at  the  wild  beasts  in  the  Zoo. 
But  let  us  get  away  from  the  watered  road,  the  police- 
men, and  all  that.  That's  no  fun.  See,  go  down  that 
turning  into  the  middle  of  it ;  you  can  get  out  that  way  to 
the  river  road  afterward  if  you  like." 

The  bribe  was  sufficient;  it  was  not  far  across  to  peace 
and  quiet,  so  the  turn  was  made.  Nor  was  the  staring 
worse  in  the  irregular  lane  of  booths  and  stalls  down 
which  they  drove.  The  unchecked  crowd  was  strangely 
silent  despite  the  numberless  children  carried  shoulder 


BRA  VO  !  65 

high  to  see  the  show,  and  though  the  air  was  full  of  throb- 
bings  of  tomtoms,  twanging  of  sutaras,  intermittent  pop- 
pings  and  fizzings  of  squibs.  But  it  was  also  strangely 
insistent;  going  on  its  way  regardless  of  the  shouting 
groom. 

"  Take  care,"  said  ]\Irs.  Gissing  lightly,  "  don't  run 
over  another  child.  By  the  way,  I  forgot  to  tell  you — 
the  Fair  was  so  funny — but  Erlton  ran  over  a  black  baby. 
It  wasn't  his  fault  a  bit,  and  the  mother,  luckily,  didn't 
seem  to  mind;  because  it  was  a  girl.  I  expect.  Aren't 
they  an  odd  people?  One  really  never  knows  what  will 
make  them  cry  or  laugh." 

Something  was  apparently  amusing  them  at  that  mo- 
ment, however,  for  a  burst  of  boisterous  merriment 
pealed  from  a  dense  crowd  near  a  booth  pitched  in  an 
open  space. 

"What's  that?"  she  cried  sharply.  "Let's  go  and 
see." 

She  was  out  of  the  dog-cart  as  she  spoke  despite  his 
protest  that  it  was  impossible — that  she  must  not  venture. 

"  Do  you  imagine  they'll  murder  me?  "  she  asked  with 
an  insouciant,  incredulous  laugh.  "  What  nonsense! 
Here,  good  people,  let  me  pass,  please!  " 

She  was  by  this  time  in  the  thick  of  the  crowd,  which 
gave  way  instinctively,  and  he  could, do  nothing  but  fol- 
low; his  boyish  face  stern  with  the  mere  thought  her 
idle  words  had  conjured  up.  Do  her  any  injury?  Her 
dainty  dress  should  not  even  be  touched  if  he  could 
help  it. 

But  the  sightseers,  most  of  them  peasants  beguiled 
from  their  fields  for  this  Festival  of  Spring,  had  never 
seen  an  English  lady  at  such  close  quarters  before,  if, 
indeed,  they  had  ever  seen  one  at  all.  So,  though  they 
gave  way  they  closed  in  again,  silent  but  insistent  in  their 
curiosity;  while,  as  the  center  of  attraction  came  nearer, 
the  crowd  in  front  became  denser,  more  absorbed  in  the 
bursts  of  merriment.  There  was  a  ring  of  license  in  them 
which  made  young  IMainwaring  plead  hurriedly: 

"  Airs.  Gissing! — don't — please  don't." 

"  But  I  want  to  see  what  they're  laughing  at,"  she  re- 
plied.    And   then    in    perfect   mimicry   of   the    groom's 


66  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

familiar  cry,  her  high  clear  voice  echoed  over  the  heads 
in  front  of  her:  ''Hut!  Hut!  Ari  bhaiyan!  Hut!'' 

They  turned  to  see  her  gay  face  full  of  smiles,  joyous, 
confident,  sympathetic,  and  the  next  minute  the  cry  was 
echoed  with  approving  grins  from  a  dozen  responsive 
throats. 

"Stand  back,  brothers!     Stand  back!" 

There  were  quick  bustlings  to  right  and  left,  quick 
nods  and  smiles,  even  broad  laughs  full  of  good  fellow- 
ship; so  that  she  found  herself  at  the  innermost  circle 
with  clear  view  of  the  central  space,  of  the  cause  of  the 
laughter.  It  made  her  give  a  faint  gasp  and  stand  trans- 
fixed. Two  white-masked  figures,  clasped  waist  to  waist, 
were  waltzing  about  tipsily.  One  had  a  curled  flaxen 
wig,  a  muslin  dress  distended  by  an  all  too  visible  crino- 
line, giving  full  play  to  a  pair  of  prancing  brown  legs. 
The  other  wore  an  old  staff  uniform,  cocked  hat  and 
feather  complete.  The  flaxen  curls  rested  on  the  tar- 
nished epaulet,  the  unembracing  arms  flourished  brandy 
bottles. 

It  was  a  vile  travesty;  and  the  Englishwoman 
turned  instinctively  to  the  Englishman  as  if  doubtful 
what  to  do,  how  to  take  it.  But  the  passion  of  his  boy- 
ish face  seemed  to  make  things  clear — to  give  her  the 
clew,  and  she  gripped  his  hand  hard. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool!  "  she  whispered  fiercely.  "  Laugh. 
It's  the  only  thing  to  do."  Her  own  voice  rang  out 
thrill  above  the  uncertain  stir  in  the  crowd,  taken  aback 
in  its  merriment. 

But  something  else  rose  above  it  also.  A  single 
word: 

"Bravo!" 

She  turned  like  lightning  to  the  sound,  her  cheeks  for 
the  first  time  aflame,  but  she  could  see  no  one  in  the  cir- 
cle of  dark  faces  whom  she  could  credit  with  the  exclama- 
tion.    Yet  she  felt  sure  she  had  heard  it. 

"  Bravo!  "     Had   it  been   said   in  jest  or  earnest,   in 

mockery   or Young   Mainwaring   interrupted    the 

problem  by  suggesting  that  as  the  maskers  had  run  away 
into  a  booth,  where  he  could  not  follow  and  give  them  the 
licking  they  deserved  because  of  her  presence,  it  might 


THE    GIFT  OF  MANY  FACES.  67 

be  as  well  for  her  to  escape  further  insult  by  returning  to 
the  buggy.  His  tone  was  as  full  of  reproach  as  that  of  a 
lad  in  love  could  be,  but  Mrs.  Gissing  was  callous.  She 
declared  she  was  glad  to  have  seen  it.  Englishmen  did 
drink  and  Englishwomen  waltzed.  Why,  then,  shouldn't 
the  natives  poke  fun  at  both  habits  if  they  chose?  They 
themselves  could  laugh  at  other  things.  And  laugh  she 
did,  recklessly,  at  everything  and  everybody  for  the  re- 
mainder of  the  drive.  But  underneath  her  gayety  she 
was  harping  on  that  "  Bravo!  "  And  suddenly  as  they 
drove  by  the  river  she  broke  in  on  the  boy's  prattle  to 
say  excitedly:  "  I  have  it!  It  must  have  been  the  one  in 
the  Afghan  cap  who  said  '  Bravo!  '  He  was  fairer  than 
the  rest.  Perhaps  he  was  an  Englishman  disguised. 
Well!  I  should  know  him  again  if  1  saw  him." 

"  Him?  who — what?  Who  said  bravo?  "  asked  the 
lad.  He  had  been  too  angry  to  notice  the  exclamation 
at  the  time. 

She  looked  at  him  quizzically.  "  Not  you — you 
abused  me.  But  someone  did — or  didn't " — here  her 
little  slack  hands  resting  in  her  lap  clasped  each  other 
tightly.  "  I  rather  wish  I  knew.  I'd  rather  like  to  make 
him  say  it  again.     Bravo!     Bravo!  " 

And  then,  as  if  at  her  own  mimicry,  she  returned  to 
her  childish  unreasoning  laugh. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE    GIFT    OF    MANY    FACES. 

Mrs.  Gissing  had  guessed  right.  The  man  in  the 
Afghan  cap  was  Jim  Douglas,  who  found  the  disguise  of 
a  frontiersman  the  easiest  to  assume,  when,  as  now,  he 
wanted  to  mix  in  a  crowd.  And  he  would  have  said 
"  Bravo  "  a  dozen  times  over  if  he  had  thought  the  little 
lady  would  like  to  hear  it;  for  her  quick  denial  of  the 
possibility  of  insult  had  roused  his  keenest  admiration. 
Here  had  spoken  a  dignity  he  had  not  expected  to  find 
in  one  whom  he  only  knew  as  a  woman  Major  Erlton 
delighted  to  honor.     A  dignity  lacking  in  the  big  brave 


68  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

boy  beside  her;  lacking,  alas!  in  many  a  big  brave 
Englishman  of  greater  importance.  So  he  had  risked 
detection  by  that  sudden  "  Bravo!  "  Not  that  he  dreaded 
it  much.  To  begin  with,  he  was  used  to  it,  even  when  he 
posed  as  an  out-lander,  for  there  was  a  trick  in  his  gait, 
not  to  be  Orientalized,  which  made  policemen  salute 
gravely  as  he  passed  disguised  to  the  tent.  Then  there 
was  ignorance  of  some  one  or  another  of  the  million 
shibboleths  which  divide  men  from  each  other  in  India; 
shibboleths  too  numerous  for  one  lifetime's  learning, 
which  require  to  be  born  in  the  blood,  bred  in  the  bone. 
In  this  case,  also,  he  had  every  intention  of  asserting  his 
race  by  licking  one  at  least  of  the  offenders  when  the 
show  was  over.  For  he  happened  to  know  one  of  them ; 
having  indeed  licked  him  a  few  days  before  over  a  certain 
piece  of  bone.  So,  as  the  crowd,  accepting  the  finale  of 
one  amusement  placidly,  drifted  away  to  see  another,  he 
walked  over  to  the  tent  in  which  the  discomforted 
caricaturists  had  found  refuge.  It  was  a  tattered  old 
military  bell-tent,  bought  most  likely  at  some  auction 
with  the  tattered  old  stafif  uniform.  As  he  lifted  the  flap 
the  sound  of  escaping  feet  made  him  expect  a  stern  chase; 
but  he  was  mistaken.  Two  figures  rose  with  a  start  of 
studied  surprise  and  salaamed  profoundly  as  he  entered. 
Thev  were  both  stark  naked  save  for  a  waistcloth,  and 
Jim  Douglas  could  not  resist  a  quick  glance  round  for  the 
discarded  costumes.  They  were  nowhere  to  be  seen; 
being  hidden,  probably,  under  the  litter  of  properties 
strewing  the  squalid  green-room.  Still  of  the  identity  of 
the  man  he  knew  Jim  Douglas  had  no  doubt,  and  as  this 
one  was  also  the  nearest,  he  promptly  seized  him  by  the 
both  shoulders  and  gave  him  a  sound  Western  kick, 
which  w^ould  have  been  followed  by  others  if  the  recipi- 
ent had  not  slipped  from  his  hold  like  an  eel.  For  Jhungi, 
Bunjarah,  and  general  vagrant,  habitually  oiled  him- 
self from  head  to  foot  after  the  manner  of  his  profession 
as  a  precaution  against  such  possible  attempts  at  capture. 

His  assailant,  grasping  this  fact,  at  any  rate,  did  not 
risk  dignity  by  pursuit;  though  the  man  stood  salaam- 
ing again  within  arm's  length. 

"You  scoundrel!"  said  Jim   Douglas  with  as  much 


THE   GIFT  OF  MANY  FACES.  69 

severity  as  he  could  command  before  the  mixture  of 
deference  and  defiance,  innocence  and  iniquity,  in  the 
sharp,  cunning  face  before  him.  "  Wasn't  the  Hcking  I 
gave  you  before  enough?  " 

Jhungi  superadded  perplexity  to  his  other  show  of 
emotions.  "  The  Huzoor  mistakes,"  he  said,  with  sud- 
den cheerful  understanding.  "  It  was  the  miscreant 
Bhungi,  my  brother,  whom  the  Huzoor  licked.  The 
misbegotten  idler  who  tells  lies  in  the  bazaar  about  bones 
and  sacks.  So  his  skin  smarts,  but  my  body  is  whole. 
Is  it  not  so.  Father  Tiddu?  " 

The  appeal  to  his  companion  was  made  with  curious 
eagerness,  and  Jim  Douglas,  who  had  heard  this  tale  of 
the  ill-doing  double  before,  looked  at  the  witness  to  it 
with  interest.  That  this  man  was  or  was  not  Jhungi's 
co-offender  he  could  not  say  with  certainty,  for  there  was 
a  remarkable  lack  of  individuality  about  both  face  and 
figure  when  in  repose.  But  the  nickname  of  Tiddu,  or 
cricket,  was  immediately  explained  by  the  jerky  angu- 
larity of  his  actions,.  Save  for  the  faint  frostiness  of 
sprouting  gray  hairs  on  a  shaven  cheek  and  skull  he 
might  have  been  any  age. 

"  Of  a  truth  it  was  Bhungi,"  he  said  in  a  well-modu- 
lated but  creaky  voice.  "  Time  was  when  liars,  such  as 
he,  fell  dead.  Now  they  don't  even'  catch  fevers,  and  if 
they  do,  the  Huzoors  give  them  a  bitter  powder  and  start 
them  lying  again.  So,  since  one  dead  fish  stinks  a  whole 
tank,  virtuous  Jhungi,  being  like  as  two  peas  in  a  pod, 
suffers  an  ill-name.  But  Bhungi  will  know  what  it 
means  to  tell  lies  when  he  stands  before  his  Creator. 
Nevertheless  in  this  world  the  master  being  enraged " 

"  Not  so.  Father  Tiddu,"  interrupted  Jhungi  glibly, 
"  the  Huzoor  is  but  enraged  with  Bhungi.  And  rightly. 
Did  not  we  hide  our  very  faces  with  shame  while  he  mim- 
icked the  noble  people?  Did  we  not  try  to  hold  him 
when  he  fled  from  punishment — as  the  Huzoor  no  doubt 
heard " 

Jim  Douglas  without  a  word  slipped  his  hand  down 
the  man's  back.  The  wales  of  a  sound  hiding  were 
palpable;  so  was  his  wince  as  he  dodged  aside  to 
salaam  again. 


70  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

"  The  Huzoor  is  a  male  judge,"  he  said  admiringly. 
"  No  black  man  could  deceive  him.  This  slave  has  cer- 
tainly been  whipped.  He  fell  among  liars  who  robbed 
him  of  his  reputation.  Will  the  Huzoor  do  likewise? 
On  the  honor  of  a  Bunjarah  'tis  Bhungi  whom  the 
Huzoor  beats.  He  gives  Jhungi  bitter  powders  when 
he  gets  the  fever.  And  even  Bhungi  but  tries  to  earn  a 
stomachful  as  he  can  when  the  Huzoors  take  his  trade 
from  him." 

"  The  world  grows  hollow,  to  match  a  man's  swallow," 
quoted  Tiddu  affably. 

The  familiar  by-word  of  poverty,  the  quiet  mingling  of 
truth  and  falsehood,  daring  and  humility  in  Jhungi's  plea, 
roused  both  Jim  Douglas'  sense  of  humor,  and  the 
sympathy — which  with  him  was  always  present — for  the 
hardness  and  squalidness  of  so  many  of  the  lives  around 
him. 

"  But  you  can  surely  earn  the  stomachful  honestly," 
he  said,  anger  passing  into  irritation.  "  What  made  you 
take  to  this  trade?  "  He  kicked  at  a  pile  of  properties, 
and  in  so  doing  disclosed  the  skeleton  of  a  crinoline. 
Jhungi  with  a  shocked  expression  stooped  down  and 
covered  it  up  decorously. 

"  But  it  is  my  trade,"  he  replied;  "the  Huzoor  must 
surely  have  heard  of  the  Many-Faced  tribe  of  Bunjarahs? 
I  am  of  them.' 

"  Lie  not,  Jhungi!  "  interrupted  Tiddu  calmly,  "  he  is 

but  my  apprentice,  Huzoor,  but  I "  he  paused,  caught 

up  a  cloth, gave  it  one  dexterous  twirl  round  him,  squatted 
down,  and  there  he  was,  to  the  life,  a  veiled  woman 
watching  the  stranger  with  furtive,  modest  eye.  "  But 
I,"  came  a  round  feminine  voice  full  of  feminine  inflec- 
tions, "  am  of  the  thousand-faced  people  who  wander  to 
a  thousand  places.  A  new  place,  a  new  face.  It  makes 
a  large  world,  Huzoor,  a  strange  world."  There  was  a 
melancholy  cadence  in  his  voice,  which  added  interest  to 
the  sheer  amaze  which  Jim  Douglas  was  feeling.  He  had 
heard  the  legend  of  the  Many-Faced  Tribe,  had  even  seen 
clever  actors  claiming  to  belong  to  it,  and  knew  how  the 
Stranglers  deceived  their  victims,  but  anything  like  this 


THE   GIFT  OF  MANY  FACES.  7 1 

he  had  never  credited,  much  less  seen.  He  himself, 
thoui^h  he  knew  to  the  contrary,  could  scarcely  combat 
the  conviction,  which  seemed  to  come  to  him  from  that 
one  furtive  eye,  that  a  woman  sat  within  those  folds. 

"  But  how?  "  he  begun  in  perplexity.  "  I  thought  the 
Baharupas   \L'\t.  many-faced]   never  went  in  caravans." 

Tiddu  resumed  the  cracked  voice  and  let  the  smile 
become  visible,  and,  as  if  by  magic,  the  illusion  disap- 
peared. "  The  Huzoor  is  right.  We  are  wanderers. 
But  in  my  youth  a  woman  tied  me  to  one  place,  one  face ; 
women  have  the  trick,  Huzoor,  even  if  they  are  wander- 
ers themselves.  This  one  was,  but  I  loved  her;  so  after 
we  had  burned  her  and  her  fellow-wanderer  together 
hand-in-hand,  according  to  the  custom,  so  that  they 
might  wander  elsewhere  but  not  in  the  tribe,  I  lingered 
on.  He  was  the  father  of  Jhungi,  and  the  boy  being  left 
destitute  I  taught  him  to  play;  for  it  needs  two  in  the 
play  as  in  life.  The  man  and  the  woman,  or  folks  care 
not  for  it.     So  1  taught  Jhungi " 

"And  brother  Bhungi?"  suggested  his  hearer  dryly. 

A  faint  chuckle  came  from  the  veil.  *'  And  Bhungi. 
He  plays  well,  and  hath  beguiled  an  old  rascal  with  thin 
legs  and  a  fat  face  like  mine  into  playing  with  him.  Some, 
even  the  Huzoor  himself,  might  be  beguiled  into  mistak- 
ing Siddu  for  Tiddu.  But  it  is  a  tom-cat  to  a  tiger.  So 
being  warned,  the  Huzoor  will  giVe  no  unearned  blows. 
Yet  if  he  did,  are  not  two  kicks  bearable  from  the  milch- 
cow?"  As  he  spoke  he  angled  out  a  hand  impudently 
for  an  alms  with  the  beggars'  cry  of  "  Alakh,"  to  point 
his  meaning. 

It  was  echoed  by  Jhungi,  who,  envious  of  Tiddu's 
holding  the  boards,  as  it  were,  had  in  sheer  devilry  and 
desire  not  to  be  outdone,  taken  up  the  disguise  of  a 
mendicant.  It  was  a  most  creditable  performance,  but 
Tiddu  dismissed  it  with  a  waive  of  the  hand. 

"  Bitllah! "  he  said  contemptuously,  "  'tis  the  refuge  of 
fools.  There  is  not  one  true  beggar  in  fifty,  so  the  forty- 
and-nine  false  ones  go  free  of  detention  as  the  potter's 
donkey.  Even  the  Huzoor  could  do  better — had  I  the 
teaching  of  him." 

He  leaned  forward,  dropping  his  voice  slightly,  and 


72  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

Jim  Douglas  narrowed  his  eyes  as  men  do  when  some 
unbidden  idea  claims  admittance  to  the  brain. 

"  You?"  he  echoed;  "what  could  you  teach  me?" 

Tiddu  rose,  let  fall  the  veil  to  decent  dignified  drapery, 
and  fixed  his  eyes  full  on  the  questioner.  They  were 
luminous  eyes,  differing  from  Jhungi's  beady  ones  as 
the  fire-opal  differs  from  the  diamond. 

"What  could  I  teach?"  he  re-echoed,  and  his  tone, 
monotonously  distinct  to  Jim  Douglas,  was  inaudible 
to  others,  judging  by  Jhungi's  impassive  face.  "  Many 
things.  For  one,  that  the  Baharupas  are  not  mimics 
only.  They  have  the  Great  Art.  What  is  it?  God 
knows.  But  what  they  will  folk  to  see,  that  is  seen. 
That  and  no  more." 

Jim  Dou  las  laughed  derisively.  Animal  magnetism 
and  mesmerism  were  one  thing:  this  was  another. 

"  The  Huzoor  thinks  I  lie;  but  he  must  have  heard  of 
the  doctor  sahib  in  Calcutta  who  made  suffering  forget 
to  suffer." 

"  You  mean  Dr.  Easdale.  Did  you  know  him?  Was 
he  a  pupil  of  yours?  "  came  the  cynical  question. 

Tiddu's  face  became  expressionless.  "  Perhaps;  but 
this  slave  forgets  names.  Yet  the  Huzoors  have  the  gift 
sometimes.  The  Baharupas  have  it  not  always;  though 
the  father's  hoard  goes  oftenest  to  the  son.  Now,  if,  by 
chance,  the  Huzoor  had  the  gift  and  could  use  it,  there 
would  be  no  need  for  policemen  to  salute  as  he  passes; 
no  need  for  the  drug-smokers  to  cease  babbling  when 
he  enters.  So  the  Huzoor  could  find  out  what  he  wants 
to  find  out;  what  he  is  paid  to  find  out." 

His  eyes  met  Jim  Douglas'  surprise  boldly. 

"  How  do  you  know  I  want  to  find  out  anything?  " 
said  the  latter,  after  a  pause. 

Tiddu  laughed.  "  The  Huzoor  must  find  a  turban 
heavy,  and  there  is  no  room  for  English  toes  in  a  native 
shoe;  folk  seek  not  such  discomfort  for  naught." 

Jim  Douglas  paused  again;  the  fellow  was  a  charlatan, 
but  he  was  consummately  clever;  and  if  there  was  any- 
thing certain  in  this  world  it  was  the  wisdom  of  forget- 
ting Western  prejudices  occasionally  in  dealing  with  the 
East. 


THE   GIFT  OF  MANY  FACES.  73 

"  Send  that  man  away,"  he  said  curtly,  "  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  alone." 

But  the  request  seemed  lost  on  Tiddu.  He  folded  up 
the  veil  impudently,  and  resumed  the  thread  of  the  for- 
mer topic.  "  Yet  Jhungi  plays  the  beggar  well,  for 
which  Fate  be  praised,  since  he  m.ust  ask  alms  else- 
where if  the  Huzoor  refuses  them.  For  the  purse  is 
empty  " — here  he  took  a  leathern  bag  from  his  waist- 
band and  turned  it  inside  out — "  by  reason  of  the 
Huzoor's  dislike  to  good  mimics.  So  thou  must  to  the 
temples,  Jhungi,  and  if  thou  meetest  Bhungi  give  him 
the  sahib's  generous  gift;  for  blows  should  not  be  taken 
on  loan." 

Jhungi,  who  all  this  time  had  been  telling  his  beads 
like  the  best  of  beggars,  looked  up  with  some  perplexity; 
whether  real  or  assumed  Jim  Douglas  felt  it  was  impos- 
sible to  say,  in  that  hotbed  of  deception. 

"Bhungi?"  echoed  the  former,  rising  to  his  feet. 
"Ay!  that  will  I,  if  I  meet  him.  But  God  knows  as  to 
that.     God  knows  of  Bhungi " 

"  The  purse  is  empty,"  repeated  Tiddu  in  a  warning 
voice,  and  Jhungi,  with  a  laugh,  pulled  himself  and  his 
disguise  together,  as  it  were,  and  passed  out  of  the  tent; 
his  beggar's  cry,  ""  Alakhl  AlakJi!''  growing  fainter  and 
fainter  while  Tiddu  and  Jim  Douglas  looked  at  each 
other. 

"  Jhungi-Bhungi — Bhungi-Jhungi,"  jeered  the  Ba- 
harupa,  suddenly,  jingling  the  names  together.  "  Which 
be  which,  as  he  said,  God  knows,  not  man.  That  is  the 
best  of  lies.  They  last  a  body's  lifetime,  so  the  Huzoor 
may  as  well  learn  old  Tiddu's " 

"  Or  Siddu's?  " 

"  Or  Siddu's,"  assented  the  mountebank  calmly. 
"  But  the  Huzoor  cannot  learn  to  use  his  gift  from  that 
old  rascal.  He  must  come  to  the  many-faced  one,  who 
is  ready  to  teach  it." 

"  Why?  " 

Tiddu  abandoned  mystery  at  once. 

"  For  fifty  rupees,  Huzoor;  not  a  pice  less.  Now,-  in 
my  hand." 

Was  it  worth  it?     Jim  Douglas  decided  instantly  that 


74  OX    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

it  might  be.  Xot  for  the  gift's  sake;  of  that  he  was 
incredulous.  But  Tiddu  was  a  consummate  actor  and 
could  teach  many  tricks  worth  knowing.  Then  in  this 
roving  commission  to  report  on  anything  he  saw  and 
heard  to  the  military  magnate,  it  would  suit  him  for  the 
time  to  have  the  service  of  an  arrant  scoundrel.  Be- 
sides, the  pay  promised  him  being  but  small,  the  wisdom 
of  having  a  second  string  to  the  bow  of  ambition  had 
already  decided  him  on  combining  inquiry  with  judi- 
cious horse-dealing;  since  he  could  thus  wander  through 
villages  buying,  through  towns  selling,  without  arousing 
suspicion;  and  this  life  in  a  caravan  would  start  him  on 
these  lines  effectively.  Finally,  this  ofifer  of  Tiddu's  was 
unsought,  unexpected,  and,  ever  since  Kate  Erlton's 
appeal,  Jim  Douglas  had  felt  a  strange  attraction  toward 
pure  chance.  So  he  took  out  a  note  from  his  pocket- 
book  and  laid  it  in  the  Baharupa's  hand. 

"You  asked  fifty,"  he  said,  "I  give  a  hundred;  but 
with  the  branch  of  the  neem-tree  between  us  two." 

Tiddu  gave  him  an  admiring  look.  "  With  the  sacred 
'  Lim  kc  dagla  '  between  us,  and  Mighty  Murri-am  her- 
self to  see  it  grow,"  he  echoed.  "  Is  the  Huzoor  satis- 
fied? " 

.  The  Englishman  knew  enough  of  Bunjarah  oaths  to 
be  sure  that  he  had,  at  least,  the  cream  of  them;  besides, 
a  hundred  rupees  went  far  in  the  purchase  of  good  faith. 
So  that  matter  was  settled,  and  he  felt  it  to  be  a  distinct 
relief;  for  during  the  last  day  or  two  he  had  been  cast- 
ing about  for  a  fair  start  rather  aimlessly.  In  truth,  he 
had  underrated  the  gap  little  Zora's  death  would  make 
in  his  life,  and  had  been  in  a  way  bewildered  to  find  him- 
self haunting  the  empty  nest  on  the  terraced  roof  in  for- 
lorn, sentimental  fashion.  The  sooner,  therefore,  that 
he  left  Lucknow  the  better.  So,  as  the  Bunjarah  had 
told  him  the  caravan  was  starting  the  very  next  morn- 
ing, he  hastily  completed  his  few  preparations,  and 
having  sent  Tara  word  of  his  intention,  went,  after  the 
moon  had  risen,  to  lock  the  doors  on  the  past  idyl  and 
take  the  key  of  the  garden-house  back  to  its  owner;  for 
he  himself  had  always  lodged,  in  European  fashion,  near 
the  Palace. 


THE    GIFT   OF  MANY  FACES.  75 

The  garden,  as  he  entered  it,  lay  peaceful  as  ever;  so 
utterly  unchanged  from  what  he  remembered  it  on  many 
balmy  moonlit  nights,  that  he  could  not  help  looking 
up  once  more,  as  if  expectant  of  that  tinsel  flutter,  that 
soft  welcome,  "  Khush-dinud-und  HnznitJ'  Strange!  So 
far  as  he  was  concerned  tlie  idyl  might  be  beginning; 
but  for  her?  All  unconsciously,  as  he  paused,  his 
thought  found  answer  in  one  spoken  word — the  Persian 
equivalent  for  "  it  is  finished,"  which  has  such  a  finality 
in  its  short  syllables: 

"  Khutm." 

"  Khutm."  The  echo  came  from  Tara's  voice,  but  it 
had  a  ring  in  it  which  made  him  turn,  anticipating  some 
surprise.  She  was  standing  not  far  off,  below  the  plinth, 
as  he  was,  having  stepped  out  from  the  shadow  of  the 
trees  at  his  approach,  and  she  was  swathed  from  head  to 
foot  in  the  white  veil  of  orthodox  widowhood,  which 
encircled  her  face  like  a  cere-cloth.  Even  in  the  moon- 
light he  could  see  the  excitement  in  her  face,  the  glitter 
in  the  large,  wild  eyes. 

"Tara!"  he  exclaimed  sharply,  his  experience  warn- 
ing him  of  danger,  "  what  does  this  mean?  " 

"  That  the  end  has  come;  the  end  at  last!  "  she  cried 
theatrically;  every  fold  of  her  drapery,  though  she  stood 
stiff  as  a  corpse,  seeming  to  be  instin'ct  with  fierce  vitality. 

He  changed  his  tone  at  once,  perceiving  that  the 
danger  might  be  serious.  "  You  mean  that  your  serv- 
ice is  at  an  end,"  he  said  quietly.  "  I  told  you  that 
some  days  ago.  Also  that  your  pay  would  be  continued 
because  of  your  goodness  to  her — to  the  dead.  I 
advised  your  returning  north,  nearer  your  own  people, 
but  you  are  free  to  go  or  stay.  Do  you  want  anything 
more?     If  you  do,  be  quick,  please,  for  I  am  in  a  hurry." 

His  coolness,  his  failure  to  remark  on  the  evident 
meaning  of  her  changed  dress,  calmed  her  somewhat. 

"  I  want  nothing,"  she  replied  sullenly.  "  A  suttee 
wants  nothing  in  this  world,  and  I  am  suttee.  I  have  been 
the  master's  servant  for  gratitude's  sake — now  I  am  the 
servant  of  God  for  righteousness'  sake."  So  far  she  had 
spoken  as  if  the  dignified  words  had  been  pre-arranged; 


76  ON    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

now  she  paused  in  a  sort  of  wistful  anger  at  the  indififer- 
ence  on  his  face.  The  words  meant  so  much  to  her, 
and,  as  she  ceased  from  them,  their  controUing  power 
seemed  to  pass  also,  and  she  flung  out  her  arms  wildly, 
then  brought  them  down  in  stinging  blows  upon  her 
breasts, 

"  I  am  suttee.  Yes!  I  am  suttee!  Reject  me  not  again, 
ye  Shining  Ones!  reject  me  not  again." 

The  cry  was  full  of  exalted  resolve  and  despair.  It 
made  Jim  Douglas  step  up  to  her,  and  seizing  both 
hands,  hold  them  fast. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Tara!  "  he  said  sternly.  "  Tell  me, 
sensibly,  what  all  this  means.  Tell  me  what  you  are 
going  to  do." 

His  touch  seemed  to  scorch  her,  for  she  tore  herself 
away  from  it  vehemently;  yet  it  seemed  also  to  quiet 
her,  and  she  watched  him  with  somber  eyes  for  a  minute 
ere  replying:  "  I  am  going  to  Holy  Gunga.  Where  else 
should  a  suttee  go?  The  Water  will  not  reject  me  as  the 
Fire  did,  since,  before  God!  I  am  suttee.  As  the  master 
knows," — her  voice  held  a  passionate  appeal, — "  I  have 
been  suttee  all  these  long  years.  Yet  now  I  have  given 
up  all— all!" 

With  a  swift  gesture,  full  of  womanly  grace,  but  with 
a  sort  of  protest  against  such  grace  in  its  utter  abandon- 
ment and  self-forgetfulness,  she  flung  out  her  arms  once 
more.  This  time  to  raise  the  shrouding  veil  from  her 
head  and  shoulders.  Against  this  background  of  white 
gleaming  in  the  moonlight,  her  new-shaven  skull  showed 
death-like,  ghastly.  Jim  Douglas  recoiled  a  step,  not 
from  the  sight  itself,  but  because  he  knew  its  true  mean- 
ing; knew  that  it  meant  self-immolation  if  she  were  left 
to  follow  her  present  bent.  She  would  simply  go  down 
to  the  Ganges  and  drown  herself.  An  inconceivable 
state  of  affairs,  beyond  all  rational  understanding;  but 
to  be  reckoned  with,  nevertheless,  as  real,  inevitable. 

"  What  a  pity!  "  he  said,  after  a  moment's  pause  had 
told  him  that  it  would  be  well  to  try  and  take  the  starch 
out  of  her  resolution  by  fair  means  or  foul,  leaving  its 
cause  for  future  inquiry.  "  You  had  such  nice  hair.  I 
used  to  admire  it  very  much," 


THE   GIFT  OF  MANY  FACES.  77 

Her  hands  fell  slowly,  a  vague  terror  and  remorse 
came  to  her  eyes;  and  he  pursued  the  advantage  re- 
morselessly. "  Why  did  you  cut  it  off?  "  He  knew,  of 
course,  but  his  affected  ignorance  took  the  color,  the 
intensity  from  the  situation,  by  making  her  feel  her  coup 
de  theatre  had  failed. 

"  The  Huzoor  must  know,"  she  faltered,  anger  and 
disappointment  and  vague  doubt  in  her  tone,  while  her 
right  hand  drew  itself  over  the  shaven  skull  as  if  to  make 

sure  there  was  no  mistake.     "  I  am  suttee "     The 

familiar  word  seemed  to  bring  certainty  with  it,  and  she 
went  on  more  confidentially.  "  So  I  cut  it  all  off  and  it 
lies  there,  ready,  as  I  am,  for  purification." 

She  pointed  to  the  upper  step  leading  to  the  plinth, 
where,  as  on  an  altar,  lay  all  her  worldly  treasures, 
arranged  carefully  with  a  view  to  effect.  The  crimson 
scarf  she  had  always  worn  was  folded — with  due  regard 
to  the  display  of  its  embroidered  edge — as  a  cloth,  and 
at  either  end  of  it  lay  a  pile  of  trumpery  personal  adorn- 
ments, each  topped  and  redeemed  from  triviality  by  a 
gold  wristlet  and  anklet.  In  the  center,  set  round  by 
fallen  orange-blossoms,  rose  a  great  heap  of  black  hair, 
snakelike  in  glistening  coils.  The  simple  pomposity  of 
the  arrangement  was  provocative  of  smiles,  the  wistful 
eagerness  of  the  face  watching  its  effect  on  the  master 
was  provocative  of  tears.  Jim  Douglas,  feeling  inclined 
for  both,  chose  the  former  deliberately;  he  even  managed 
a  derisive  laugh  as  he  stepped  up  to  the  altar  and  laid 
sacrilegious  hands  on  the  hair.  Tara  gave  a  cry  of  dis- 
may, but  he  was  too  quick  for  her,  and  dangled  a  long 
lock  before  her  very  eyes,  in  jesting,  but  stern  decision. 

"  That  settles  it,  Tara.  You  can  go  to  Gunga  now  if 
you  like,  and  bathe  and  be  as  holy  as  you  like.  But 
there  will  be  no  Fire  or  Water.     Do  you  understand?" 

She  looked  at  the  hand  holding  the  hair  with  the 
oddest  expression,  though  she  said  obstinately,  "  I  shall 
drown  if  I  choose." 

"Why  should  you  choose?"  he  asked.  "You  know 
as  well  as  I  that  it  is  too  late  for  any  good  to  you  or 
others.  The  Fire  and  Water  should  have  come  twelve 
years  ago.     The  priests  won't  say  so  of  course.     They 


78  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

want  fools  to  help  them  in  this  fuss  about  the  new  law. 
Ah!  I  thought  so!  They  have  been  at  you,  have  they? 
Well,  be  a  fool  if  you  like,  and  bring  them  pennies  at 
Benares  as  a  show.  You  cannot  do  anything  else.  You 
can't  even  sacrifice  your  hair  really,  so  long  as  I  have 
this  bit."  He  began  to  roll  the  lock  round  his  finger, 
neatly. 

"  What  is  the  Huzoor  going  to  do  with  it? "  she 
asked,  and  the  oddness  had  invaded  her  voice. 

"  Keep  it,"  he  retorted.  "  And  by  all  these  thirty 
thousand  and  odd  gods  of  yours,  I'll  say  it  was  a  love- 
token  if  I  choose.  And  I  will  if  you  are  a  fool."  He 
drew  out  a  small  gold  locket  attached  to  the  Brah- 
minical  thread  he  always  wore,  and  began  methodically 
to  fit  the  curl  into  it,  wondering  if  this  cantrip  of  his — 
for  it  was  nothing  more — would  impress  Tara.  Pos- 
sibly. He  had  found  such  suggestions  of  ritual  had 
an  immense  efifect,  especially  with  the  womenkind  who 
were  for  ever  inventing  new  shackles  for  themselves ;  but 
her  next  remark  startled  him  considerably. 

"  Is  the  hib'is  hair  in  there  too?  "  she  asked.  There 
was  a  real  anxiety  in  her  tone,  and  he  looked  at  her 
sharply,  wondering  what  she  would  be  at. 

"  No,"  he  answered.  In  truth  it  was  empty ;  and  had 
been  empty  ever  since  he  had  taken  a  fair  curl  from  it 
many  years  before;  a  curl  which  had  ruined  his  life. 
The  memory  making  him  impatient  of  all  feminine 
subtleties,  he  added  roughly,  "  It  will  stay  there  for  the 
present;  but  if  you  try  suttee  nonsense  I  swear  I'll  tie  it 
up  in  a  cowskin  bag,  and  give  it  to  a  sweeper  to  make 
broth  of." 

The  grotesque  threat,  which  suggested  itself  to  his 
sardonic  humor  as  one  suitable  to  the  occasion,  and 
which  in  sober  earnest  was  terrible  to  one  of  her  race, 
involving  as  it  did  eternal  damnation,  seemed  to  pass 
her  by.  There  was  even,  he  fancied,  a  certain  relief  in 
the  face  watching  him  complete  his  task;  almost  a  smile 
quivering  about  her  lips.  But  when  he  closed  the  locket 
with  a  snap,  and  was  about  to  slip  it  back  to  its  place, 
the  full  meaning  of  the  threat,  of  the  loss — or  of  some- 
thing beyond  these — seemed  to  overtake  her;  an  un- 


THE  GIFT  OF  MANY  FACES.  79 

mistakable  terror,  horror,  and  despair  swept  through 
her.  She  flung  herseh'  at  his  feet,  clasping  them  with 
both  hands, 

"  Give  it  me  back,  master,"  she  pleaded  wildly. 
"Hinder  me  not  again!  Before  God  I  am  suttee!  I 
am  suttee!  " 

But  this  same  Eastern  clutch  of  appeal  is  disconcert- 
ing to  the  average  Englishman.  It  fetters  the  under- 
standing in  another  sense,  and  smothers  sympathy  in  a 
desire  to  be  left  alone.  Even  Jim  Douglas  stepped 
back  from  it  with  something  like  a  bad  word.  She  re- 
mained crouching  for  a  moment  with  empty  hands, 
then  rose  in  scornful  dignity. 

"  There  was  no  need  to  thrust  this  slave  aw^ay,"  she 
said  proudly.  "  Tara,  the  Rajputni,  will  go  without 
that.  She  will  go  to  Holy  Gunga  and  be  purged  of  in- 
most sin.  Then  she  will  return  and  claim  her  right  of 
suttee  at  the  master's  hand.  Till  then  he  may  keep  what 
he  stole." 

"  He  means  to  keep  it,"  retorted  the  master  savagely, 
for  he  had  come  to  the  end  of  his  patience.  "  Though 
what  this  fuss  about  suttee  means  I  don't  know.  You 
used  to  be  sensible  enough.     What  has  come  to  you?" 

Tara  looked  at  him  helplessly,  then,  wrapping  her 
widow's  veil  round  her,  prepared  to  go  in  silence.  She 
could  not  answer  that  question  -even  to  herself.  She 
would  not  even  admit  the  truth  of  the  old  tradition,  that 
the  only  method  for  a  woman  to  preserve  constancy  to 
the  dead  was  to  seek  death  itself.  That  would  be  to 
admit  too  much.  Yet  that  was  the  truth,  to  which  her 
despair  at  parting  pointed  even  to  herself.  Truth?  Xo! 
it  was  a  lie!  She  would  disprove  it  even  in  life  if  she 
was  prevented  from  doing  so  by  death.  So,  without  a 
word,  she  gathered  up  the  crimson  drapery  and  what 
lay  on  it.  Then,  with  these  pathetic  sacrifices  of  all  the 
womanhood  she  knew  tight  clasped  in  her  widow's  veil, 
she  paused  for  a  last  salaam. 

The  incomprehensible  tragedy  of  her  face  irritated 
him  into  greater  insistence. 

"But  what  is  it  all  about?"  he  reiterated.  "Who 
has  been  putting  these  ideas  into  your  head?     Who  has 


8o  ON    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

been  telling  you  to  do  this?  Is  it  Soma,  or  some  devil 
of  a  priest?  " 

As  he  waited  for  an  answer  the  floods  of  moonlight 
threw  their  shadows  together  to  join  the  perfumed  dark- 
ness of  the  orange  trees.  The  city,  half  asleep  already, 
sent  no  sound  to  invade  the  silence. 

"  No!  master.     It  was  God." 

Then  the  shadow  left  him  and  disappeared  with  her 
among  the  trees.  He  did  not  try  to  call  her  back.  That 
answer  left  him  helpless. 

But  as,  after  climbing  the  stairs,  he  passed  slowly  from 
one  to  another  of  the  old  familiar  places  in  the  pleasant 
pavilions,  the  mystery  of  such  womanhood  as  Tara 
Devi's  and  little  Zora's  oppressed  him.  Their  eternal 
cult  of  purely  physical  passion,  their  eternal  struggle  for 
perfect  purity  and  constancy,  not  of  the  soul,  but  the 
body;  their  worship  alike  of  sex  and  He  who  made  it 
seemed  incomprehensible.  And  as  he  turned  the  key 
in  the  lock  for  the  last  time,  he  felt  glad  to  think  that  it 
was  not  likely  the  problem  would  come  into  his  life 
again;  even  though  he  carried  a  long  lock  of  black  hair 
with  him.  It  was  an  odd  keepsake,  but  if  he  was  any 
judge  of  faces  his  cantrip  had  served  his  purpose;  Tara 
would  not  commit  suicide  while  he  held  that  hostage. 

So,  having  scant  leisure  left,  he  hurried  through  the 
alleys  to  return  the  key.  They  were  almost  deserted; 
the  children  at  this  hour  being  asleep,  the  men  away 
lounging  in  the  bazaars.  But  every  now  and  again  a 
formless  white  figure  clung  to  a  corner  shadow  to  let  him 
pass.  A  white  shadow  itself,  recalling  the  mystery  he 
had  been  glad  to  leave  unsolved;  for  he  knew  them  to 
be  w^omen  taking  this  only  opportunity  for  a  neighborly 
visit.  Old  or  young,  pretty  or  ugly?  What  did  it 
matter?  They  were  w^omen,  born  temptresses  of  vir- 
tuous men;  and  they  were  proud  of  the  fact,  even  the 
poor  old  things  long  past  their  youth.  There  was  a 
chink  in  a  door  he  was  about  to  pass.  A  chink  an  inch 
wade  with  a  white  shadow  behind  it.  A  woman  was 
looking  out.  What  sort  of  a  woman,  he  wondered 
idly?  Suddenly  the  chink  widened,  a  hand  crept 
through  it,  beckoning.     He  could  see  it  clearly  in  the 


THE   GIFT  OF  MANY  FACES.  8 1 

moonlight.  An  old  wrinkled  hand,  delicately  old,  deli- 
cately wrinkled,  inconceivably  thin,  but  with  the  pink 
henna  stain  of  the  temptress  still  on  palms  and  fingers.  A 
hand  with  the  whole  history  of  seclusion  written  on  it. 
He  crossed  over  to  it,  and  heard  a  hurried  breathless 
whisper. 

"  If  the  Huzoor  would  listen  for  the  sake  of  any 
woman  he  loves." 

It  was  an  old  voice,  but  it  sent  a  thrill  to  his  heart.  "  I 
am  listening,  mother,"  he  replied,  "  for  the  sake  of  the 
dead." 

"  God  send  her  grave  peace,  my  son!  "  came  the  voice 
less  hurriedly.  "  It  is  not  much  for  listening.  I  am 
pensioner,  Huzoor.  The  King  gave  me  three  rupees, 
but  now  he  is  gone  and  the  money  comes  not.  If  the 
Huzoor  would  tell  those  who  send  it  that  Ashraf-un- 
Nissa-Zainub-i-AIahal — the  Huzoor  may  know  my 
name,  being  as  my  father  and  mother — wants  it.  That 
is  all,  Huzoor." 

It  was  not  much,  but  Jim  Douglas  could  supplement 
the  rest.  Here  was  evidently  a  woman  who  had  lived 
on  bounty,  and  who  was  starving  for  the  lack  of  it. 
There  were  hundreds  in  her  position,  he  knew,  even 
among  those  whose  pensions  had  been  guaranteed;  for 
they  had  not  been  paid  as  yet.  The  papers  were  not 
ready,  the  tape  not  tied,  the  sealing-wax  not  sealed. 

"  It  will  not  be  for  long,  Huzoor,  and  it  is  only  three 
rupees.  I  was  watching  for  a  neighbor  to  borrow  corn, 
if  I  could,  and  seeing  the  Huzoor " 

"  It  is  all  right,  mother,"  he  interrupted  reassuringly. 
"  I  was  coming  to  pay  it.  Hold  the  hand  straight  and 
I  will  count  it  in.  Three  rupees  for  three  months;  that 
is  nine." 

The  chink  of  the  silver  had  a  background  of  bless- 
ings, and  Jim  Douglas  walked  on,  thinking  what  a 
quaint  commentary  this  little  incident  was  on  his 
puzzle.  "  Ashraf-un-Xissa-Zainub-i-Mahal."  "  Honor- 
of-women  aixl  Ornament-of-Palaces."  If  the  King's  pay- 
master had  thought  tw^ce  about  such  things,  the  poor 
old  lady  might  not  have  been  starving.  He  was  the  real 
culprit.     And  three  months'  delay  was  not  long  for  sane- 


82  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

tions,  references,  for  all  the  paraphernalia  and  complex 
machinery  of  our  Government.  But  a  case  like  this? 
He  looked  up  into  the  star-sprinkled  riband  of  sky  be- 
tween the  narrowing  housetops,  and  wondered  from  how 
many  unseen  hearths  and  unheard  voices  the  cry,  "  How 
long,  O  Lord!  How  long!"  was  rising.  But  even  to 
his  listening  ear  there  was  no  sign,  no  sound.  And  as 
he  went  on  through  the  bazaars,  the  crowds  were  pass- 
ing and  repassing  contentedly  upon  the  trivial  errands 
of  life,  and  the  twinkling  cressets  in  the  shops  showed 
faces  eager  only  after  a  trivial  loss  or  gain. 

And  the  world  of  Lucknow  was  apparently  awaken- 
ing contentedly  to  a  new  day,  when,  before  dawn,  he 
passed  out  of  it  disguised  by  Tiddu  as  a  deaf-and- 
dumb  driver  to  the  bullock  which  carried  the  tat- 
tered bell-tent  and  the  tattered  stafif  uniform.  It  was 
still  dark,  but  there  was  a  sense  of  coming  light  in  the 
sky,  and  the  hum  of  the  housewives'  querns,  early  at 
w'ork  over  the  coming  day's  bread,  filled  the  air  like 
swarming  bees.  The  spectral  white  shadows  of  widow- 
drudges  were  already  at  work  on  the  creaking  well- 
gear,  and  the  swish  of  their  reed  brooms  could  be  heard 
behind  screening  walls. 

But  on  the  broad  white  road  beyond  the  bazaars  the 
fresh  perfume  of  the  dew-steeped  gardens  drifted  with 
the  faint  breeze  which  heralds  the  dawn.  And  down 
the  road,  heard  first,  then  dimly  seen  against  its  white- 
ness, came  a  band  of  chanting  pilgrims  to  the  Holy 
River. 

"  Hitrri  Giinga!     Hiirri  Giiiiga!     Hurri  Gnnga!" 

Jim  Douglas,  swerving  his  bullock  to  give  them 
room,  w'ondered  if  Tara  were  among  tliem.  What  if 
she  were?  That  lock  of  hair  went  with  him.  So,  with 
a  smile,  he  swerved  the  bullock  back  again.  There  was 
a  hint  of  a  gleaming  river-curve  through  the  lessening 
trees  now,  and  that  big  black  mass  to  his  left  must  be 
the  Bailey-guard  gate.  He  could  see  a  faint  white 
streak  like  a  sentry  beside  it;  so  it  must  be  close  on 
gunfire.  Even  as  the  thought  came,  a  sudden  rolling 
boom  filled  the  silence,  and  seemed  to  vibrate  against 
the  archway.     And  hark!     From  within  the  Residency, 


THE   GIFT  OF  MANY  FACES.  83 

and  from  far  Dilkhusha,  the  clear  glad  notes  of  the 
reveille  answered  the  challenge;  while  close  at  hand  the 
clash  of  arms  told  they  were  changing  guards.  Then, 
though  he  could  not  see  it,  the  English  flag  must  be  ris- 
ing beyond  the  trees  to  float  over  the  city  during  the 
coming  day. 

For  one  day  more,  at  least. 


BOOK   II. 

THE  BLOWING  OF   THE  BUBBLE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IN    THE    PALACE. 

It  was  a  day  in  late  September.  Nearly  six  months, 
therefore,  had  gone  by  since  Jim  Douglas  had  passed 
the  Bailey-guard  at  gunfire,  and  the  English  flag  had 
risen  behind  the  trees  to  float  over  Lucknow.  It 
floated  there  now,  serenely,  securely,  with  an  air  of 
finality  in  its  folds;  for  folk  were  becoming  accustomed 
to  it.  At  least  so  said  the  official  reports,  and  even  Jim 
Douglas  himself  could  trace  no  waxing  in  the  tide  of 
discontent.  It  neither  ebbed  nor  flowed,  but  beat 
placidly  against  the  rocks  of  offense. 

But  at  Delhi  there  was  one  corner  of  the  city  over 
which  the  English  flag  did  not  float.  It  lay  upon  the 
eastern  side  above  the  river  where  four  rose-red  fortress 
walls  hemmed  in  a  few  acres  of  earth  from  the  march  of 
Time  himself,  and  safe-guarded  a  strange  survival  of 
sovereignty  in  the  person  of  Bahadur  Shah,  last  of  the 
Moghuls.  An  old  man  past  eighty  years  of  age,  who 
dreamed  a  dream  of  power  among  the  golden  domes, 
marble  colonnades,  and  green  gardens  with  which  his 
ancestors  had  crowned  the  eastern  wall. 

The  sun  shone  hotly,  steamily,  within  those  four 
inclosing  walls,  save  on  that  eastern  edge,  where  the  cool 
breezes  from  the  plains  beyond  blew  through  open 
arches  and  latticed  balconies.  For  the  rest,  the  palace- 
fort — shut  in  from  all  outside  influence — was  like  some 
tepid,  teeming  breeding-place  for  strange  forms  of  life 
unknown  to  purer,  clearer  atmospheres. 

It  was  at  the  Lahore  gate  of  this  Delhi  palace  that  on 


IN    THE  PALACE.  85 

this  late  September  day  a  tawdry  palanquin,  followed 
by  a  few  tawdry  retainers,  paused  before  a  cavernous 
arch,  ending  the  quaint,  lofty  vaulted  tunnel  which  led 
inward  for  some  fifty  yards  or  more  to  another  barrier. 
Here  an  old  man  in  spectacles  sat  writing  hurriedly. 

"  Quick,  fool,  quick!  Read,  and  let  me  sign,"  called 
the  huge  unwieldy  figure  in  the  palanquin,  as  the 
bearers,  panting  under  their  gross  burden,  shifted  shoul- 
ders. INIahboob  Ali,  Chief  Eunuch  and  Prime  Minister, 
groaned  under  the  jolt;  it  was  a  foretaste  of  many  to  be 
endured  ere  he  reached  the  Resident's  house,  miles  away 
on  the  northern  edge  of  the  river.  Yet  he  had  to  endure 
them,  for  important  negotiations  were  on  foot  between 
the  Survival  and  Civilization.  The  heir-apparent  to 
those  few  acres  where  the  sun  stood  still  had  died,  had 
been  poisoned  some  said;  md  another  had  to  be  recog- 
nized. There  was  no  lack  of  claimants;  there  never 
was  a  lack  of  claimants  to  anything  within  those  walls, 
where  everyone  strove  to  have  t^  e  first  and  last  word 
with  the  Civilization  which  supported  the  Survival. 
And  here  was  he,  Mahboob,  Prime  Minister,  being 
delayed  by  a  miserable  scrivener. 

"  Read,  pig!  read,"  he  reiterated,  laying  his  pufTy 
hand  on  his  jeweled  sword-hilt;  for  he  was  still  within 
the  gate,  therefore  a  despot.  A  few  yards  further  he 
would  be  a  dropsical  old  man ;  no  more. 

"  Your  slave  reads!  "  faltered  the  editor  of  the  Court 
Journal.  "  Mussamat  Hafzan's  record  of  the  women's 
apartments  being  late  to-day,  hath  delayed " 

"  'Twas  in  time  enough,  uncle,  if  thou  wouldst  make 
fewer  flourishes,"  retorted  a  woman's  voice;  it  was  noth- 
ing but  a  voice  by  reason  of  the  voluminous  Pathan  veil 
covering  the  small  speaker. 

"  Curse  thee  for  a  misbegotten  hovmd !  "  bawled  Mah- 
boob. "  Am  I  to  lose  the  entrance  fee  I  paid  Gamu,  the 
Huzoor's  orderly,  for  first  interview — when  money  is  so 
scarce  too!  Read  as  it  stands,  idiot — 'tis  but  an  idle  tale 
at  best." 

The  last  was  an  aside  to  himself  as  he  lay  back  in  his 
cushions;  for,  idle  though  the  tale  was  undoubtedly,  it 
suited  him  to  be  its  Prime  Minister.     The  editor  laid 


86  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

down  his  ])en  hurriedly,  and  the  poHshed  Persian  poly- 
syllables began  to  trip  over  one  another,  while  their 
murmurous  echo — as  if  eager  to  escape  the  familiar 
monotony — sped  from  arch  to  arch  of  the  long  tunnel, 
which  was  lit  about  the  middle  by  side  arches  on  the 
guards'  quarters,  and  through  which  the  sunlight 
streamed  in  a  broad  band  of  gold  across  the  red  stone 
causeway. 

The  attributes  of  the  Almighty  having  come  to  an  end 
the  reader  began  on  those  of  Bahadur  Shah,  Father  of 
Victory,  Light  of  Religion,  Polestar  and  Defender  of 
the  Faith 

"  Faster,  fool,  faster,"  came  the  fat  voice. 

The  spectacled  old  man  swallowed  his  breath,  as  it 
were,  and  went  on  at  full  gallop  through  the  uprisal  and 
bathing  of  Majesty,  through  feelings  of  pulses  and  recep- 
tion of  visitors,  then  slowed  down  a  bit  over  the  recital 
of  dinner;  for  he  was  a  gourmet,  and  his  tongue  loved 
the  very  sound  of  dainty  dishes. 

"May  your  grave  be  spat  upon!"  shouted  the  Chief 
Eunuch.  "  So  none  were  poisoned  by  it  what  matters 
the  food?     Pass  on " 

"  The  Most  Exalted  then  said  his  appointed  prayers," 
gasped  the  reader.  "  The  Light-of-the-World  then 
slept  his  usual  sleep.  On  awakening,  the  physician 
Ahsan-Oolah " 

Mahboob  sat  up  among  his  cushions.  "  Ahsan- 
Oolah!  he  felt  the  Royal  pulse  at  dawn  also " 

"  The  Most  Noble  forgets,"  interrupted  a  voice  with 
the  veiled  venom  of  a  partisan  in  its  suavity.  "  The 
King — may  his  enemies  die! — took  a  cooling  draught 
yesterday  and  requires  all  the  care  we  can  give  him." 

"  The  King,  Meean-sahib,  needs  nothing  save  the 
prayers  of  the  holy  priest,  who  has  piously  made  over 
long  years  of  his  own  life  to  prolong  his  Majesty's,"  re- 
torted Mahboob,  scowling  at  the  speaker,  who  wore  the 
Moghul  dress,  proclaiming  him  a  member  of  the  royal 
family.  There  was  no  lack  of  such  in  the  palace-fort, 
for  though  Bahadur  Shah  himself,  being  more  or  less 
of  a  saint,  had  contented  himself  with  some  sixty  chil- 
dren, his  ancestors  had  sometimes  run  to  six  hundred. 


AV    THE   PALACE.  87 

The  Aleean-sahib  laughed  scornfully  as  he  passed 
inward,  and  muttered  that  those  who  went  forth  with 
the  dog's  trot  might  return  with  the  cat's  slink,  since  the 
great  question  had  yet  to  be  settled.  Mahboob's  scow^l 
deepened;  the  very  audacity  of  the  interruption  rousing 
a  fear  lest  the  king's  eldest  son,  Mirza  ^Moghul,  whose 
partisan  the  speaker  was,  might  have  some  secret  under- 
standing, with  Civilization.     x\ll  the  more  need  for  haste. 

"  Read  on,  fool!     Who  told  thee  to  stop?" 

"  The  Princess  Farkhoonda  Zamani  entered  by  the 
Delhi  gate." 

Mahboob  gave  a  scornful  laugh  in  his  turn.  "  To  visit 
the  Mirza's  house,  no  doubt.  Let  her  come — a  pretty 
fool!  Yet  she  had  wiser  stay  where  she  hath  chosen 
to  live,  instead  of  being  princess  one  day  and  plain 
Xewasi  the  next.  There  are  enough  women  without 
her  in  the  palace!  " 

So  it  seemed,  to  judge  by  the  stream  of  female  names 
and  titles  belonging  to  the  curtained  dhoolies,  which 
had  passed  and  repassed  the  barriers,  upon  which  the 
editor  launched  his  tongue.  But  Alahboob,  as  Chief 
Eunuch,  knew  the  value  of  such  information  and  cut  it 
short  with  a  sneer. 

"  If  that  be  all!  quick!  the  pen,  and  I  will  sign." 

A  bystander,  also  in  the  ^loghul  dress,  laughed 
broadly  at  the  well-worn  inuendo  .on  the  possibilities  of 
curtained  dhoolies  in  intrigue.  "  Thou  art  right,  IMah- 
boob,"  he  said,  "  God  only  knows." 

"  His  own  work,"  chuckled  the  Keeper  of  Virtue. 
"  And  the  Devil  made  most  of  the  women  here.  Now 
pigs!     Canst  not  start?     Am  I  to  be  kept  here  all  day?  " 

As  the  litter  went  swaying  out  between  the  presented 
arms  of  the  sentries,  the  white  chrysalis  of  a  Pathan  veil 
stepped  lamely  down  into  the  causeway.  "  That,  see- 
ing there  is  no  news,  will  be  something  to  amuse  the 
Queen  withal,"  came  the  sharp  voice. 

"  There  may  be  news  enough,  when  that  fat  pig  re- 
turns, to  make  it  hard  to  amuse  thy  mistress,  ]\Iussamat 
Hafzan,"  suggested  another  bystander. 

The  chrysalis  paused.  "My  mistress!  Xay,  sahib! 
Hafzan  is  that  to  herself  only.     I  am  for  no  one  save 


50  ON    THE  FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

myself.  I  carry  news,  and  the  more  the  better  for  my 
trade.  Yet  I  have  not  had  a  real  good  day  for  gifts  of 
gratitude  from  my  hearers,  since  Prince  Fukrud-deen, 
the  heir-apparent,  died."  There  was  a  reckless  cynicism 
in  her  voice,  and  he  of  the  Moghul  dress  broke  in  hotly. 

"  Was  poisoned,  thou  meanest,  by " 

Hafzan's  shrill  laugh  rang  through  the  arches. 

"  No  names,  Mirza  sahib,  no  names!  And  'tis  no 
news  surely  to  have  folk  poisoned  in  the  fort;  as  thou 
wouldst  know  ere  long,  may  be,  if  Hafzan  were  spiteful. 
But  I  name  no  names — not  I !     I  carry  news,  that  is  all." 

So,  with  a  limp,  showing  that  the  woman  within  was  a 
cripple,  the  formless  figure  passed  along  the  tunnel 
through  the  inner  barrier,  and  so  across  the  wdde  court- 
yard where  the  public  hall  of  audience  stood  blocking 
the  eastern  end.  It  was  a  massive,  square,  one-storied 
building,  with  a  remorseless  look  in  its  plain  expanse  of 
dull  red  stone,  pierced  by  toothed  arches  which  yawned 
darkly  into  a  redder  gloom,  like  monstrous  mouths 
agape  for  victims.  Past  this,  with  its  high-set  fretted 
marble  haldeqxdn  showing  dimly  against  the  end  wall — 
whence  a  locked  wicket  gave  sole  entrance  from  the 
palace  to  this  seat  of  justice  or  injustice — the  Pathan 
veil  flitted  like  a  ghost;  so,  through  a  narrow  passage 
guarded  by  the  King's  own  body-guard,  into  a  different 
world;  a  cool  breezy  world  of  white  and  gold  and  blue, 
clasping  a  garden  set  with  flowers  and  fruit.  Blue  sky, 
white  marble  colonnades,  and  golden  domes  vaulting 
and  zoning  the  burnished  leaves  of  the  orange  trees, 
where  the  green  fruit  hung  like  emeralds  above  a  tangle 
of  roses  and  marigolds,  chrysanthemums  and  crimson 
amaranth.  Hafzan  paused  among  them  for  a  second; 
then,  all  unchallenged  by  any,  passed  on  up  the  steps  of 
the  marble  platform,  which  lies  between  the  Baths  and 
the  Private  Hall  of  Audience.  That  marvelous  building 
where  the  legend,  cunningly  circled  into  the  decorations, 
still  tells  the  visitor  again  and  again  that,  "  If  earth  holds 
a  haven  of  bliss,  It  is  this,  it  is  this,  it  is  this." 

Here,  on  the  platform,  Hafzan  paused  again  to  look 
over  the  low  parapet.  The  wide  eastern  plains  stretched 
away  to  the  pale  blue  horizon  before  her,  and  the  curv- 


IN    THE  PALACE.  89 

ing  river  lay  at  her  feet  edging  the  high  bank,  faced  with 
stone,  which  forms  the  eastern  defense  of  the  palace-fort. 
Thus  the  levels  within  touch  the  very  top  of  the  wall; 
so  that  the  domes,  and  colonnades,  and  green  gardens, 
when  seen  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  stream,  cut  clear 
upon  the  sky,  like  a  castle  in  the  air  at  all  times;  but 
in  the  sunsettings,  when  they  show  in  shades  of  pale  lilac, 
with  the  huge  dome  of  the  great  mosque  bulging  like 
a  big  bubble  into  the  golden  light  behind  them  as  a 
veritable  Palace  of  Dreams. 

She  looked  northward,  first;  along  the  sheer  face  of 
the  rosy  retaining  wall  to  its  trend  westward  at  the 
Queen's  favorite  bastion,  which  was  crowned  by  a  bal- 
conied summer-house  overhanging  the  moat  between  the 
fort  itself  and  the  isolated  citadel  of  Selimgarh;  which, 
jutting  out  into  the  river,  partially  hid  the  bridge  of 
boats  spanning  the  stream  beyond.  Then  she  looked 
southward.  Here  was  the  sheer  face  of  rosy  wall  again, 
but  it  was  crowned,  close  at  hand,  by  the  colonnade  and 
projecting  eaves  of  the  Private  Hall  of  Audience.  Fur- 
ther on  it  was  broken  by  the  carved  corbcillcs  of  the 
King's  balcony,  and  it  ended  abruptly  at  a  sudden  east- 
ward turn  of  the  river,  so  giving  a  view  of  rolling  rocky 
hillocks  sweeping  up  to  the  horizon  where,  faint  and  far 
like  a  spear-point,  the  column  of  the  Kutb  showed  on  a 
clear  day.  The  Kutb!  that  splendid  promise,  never  ful- 
filled,— that  first  minaret  of  the  great  mosque  that  never 
was,  and  never  will  be  built;  symbol  of  the  undying 
dream  of  Mohammedan  supremacy  that  never  came, 
that  never  can  come  to  pass. 

As  she  paused,  a  troop  of  women  laden  with  cosmetics 
and  combs  and  quaint  baskets  containing  endless  aids  t'"' 
beauty,  came  shuffling  out  of  the  baths,  gossiping  and 
chattering  shrilly,  and  clanking  heavy  anklets  as  they 
came.  And  with  them,  a  heavy  perfumed  steam  sug- 
gestive of  warm  indolence,  luxury,  sensuality,  passed 
out  into  the  garden. 

"What!  done  already?"  called  Hafzan  in  surprise. 

"Already!"  echoed  a  bold-faced  trollop  pertly.  "  Ari, 
sister.  Art  grown  a  loose-liver?  Sure  this  is  Friday, 
and  the  King,  good  man,  bathes  apart,  religiously!     So 


90  ox    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

we  be  religious  too,  matching  his  humor.  That  is  the 
way  with  us  women." 

An  answering  giggle  met  the  sally. 

"Thou  art  an  impudent  hussy,  Goloo!"  said  Hafzan 
angrily.     "And  the  Queen — where  is  she?" 

"  In  the  mosque  praying  for  patience — in  the  summer- 
house  playing  games — in  the  King's  room  coaxing  him 
to  belief — in  the  vestibule  feeding  her  son  with  lollipops 
— he  likes  them  big,  and  sweet,  and  lively,  and  of  his  own 
choosing,  does  the  prince,  as  I  know  to  my  cost."  Here 
a  general  titter  broke  in  on  the  unabashed  recital. 

"Lo/z/  leave  Hafzan  to  find  out  what  the  Queen  does 
elsewhere,"  suggested  another  voice.  "  We  speak  not 
of  such  things." 

"  Then  speak  lower  of  others,"  retorted  Hafzan. 
"  Walls  have  echoes,  sister,  and  thy  mistress  would  fare 
no  better  than  others  if  thy  talk  reached  Zeenut  Maihl's 
ears." 

"  Tell  her,  spy!  if  thou  wilt,"  replied  the  woman  care- 
lessly. "  We  have  friends  on  our  side  now,  as  thou 
mayst  understand  mayhap  ere  nightfall,  when  the  answer 
comes." 

Hafzan  laughed.  "  Thou  hast  more  faith  in  friends 
than  I.  Lohl  I  trust  none  within  these  four  walls.  And 
out  of  them  but  few." 

So  saying  she  limped  back  into  the  garden,  giving  a 
glance  as  she  passed  it  into  the  Pearl  Mosque,  which 
showed  like  a  carven  snowdrift  against  the  blue  of  the 
sky,  the  green  of  the  trees.  Finding  none  there,  she 
went  straight  to  the  Queen's  favorite  summer-house  on 
the  northern  bastion. 

It  was  a  curious  fatality  which  made  Zeenut  Maihl 
choose  it,  since  all  her  arts,  all  her  cunning,  could  scarcely 
have  told  her  that  it  would  ere  long  be  a  watch-tower, 
whence  the  chance  of  success  or  failure  could  be  counted. 
For  the  white  road  beyond  the  bridge  of  boats,  and 
trending  eastward  to  the  packed  population  of  Oude, 
to  Lucknow,  to  all  that  remained  of  the  vitality  in  the 
Mohammedan  dream,  was  to  be  ere  long  like  a  living, 
growing  branch  to  which  she,  the  spider,  hung  by  an 
invisible  thread,  spinning  her  cobwebs,  seemingly  in 
mid-air. 


IiV    THE   PALACE.  9^ 

"Hush!"'  The  whispered  monition  made  Hafzan 
pause  in  the  screened  arcliway  till  the  game  was  over.  It 
was  a  sort  of  dumb-crambo,  and  a  most  outrageous 
double  entendre  had  just  brought  a  smile  to  the  broad 
heavy  face  of  a  woman  who  lay  among  cushions  in  the 
alcoved  balcony.  This  was  Zeenut  Alaihl,  who  for  nearly 
twenty  years  had  kept  her  hold  upon  the  King,  despite 
endless  rivals.  She  was  dark-complexioned,  small-eyed, 
with  a  curious  lack  of  eyebrows  which  took  from  her  even 
vivacity  of  expression.  But  it  was  a  man  with  experience 
in  many  wives  w^ho  remarked  that  favor  is  deceitful  and 
beauty  is  vain;  he  knew,  no  doubt,  that  in  polygamy,  the 
victory  must  go  to  the  most  unscrupulous  fighter.  Zee- 
nut  Alaihl,  at  any  rate,  secured  hers  by  ever-recurring 
promises  of  another  heir  to  her  octogenarian  husband; 
a  flattery  to  which  his  other  wives  either  could  not  or 
would  not  stoop.  But  the  trick  served  the  Queen's  pur- 
pose in  more  ways  than  one.  Her  oft-recurring  disap- 
pointments could  have  but  one  cause :  witchcraft.  So  on 
such  occasions,  with  her  paid  priest,  Hussan  Askuri,  say- 
ing prayers  for  those  in  extremis  at  her  bedside,  Zeenut 
Maihl's  enemies  went  down  like  nine-pins,  and  she  rose 
from  her  bed  of  sickness  with  a  board  cleared  of  danger- 
ous rivalry.  For  none  in  the  liot-bed  of  shams  felt  secure 
enough  to  get  into  grips  with  her.  Ahsan-Oolah,  the 
physician,  might  have;  she  had  cried  quarter  from  his 
keen  fence  before  now;  but  he  did  not  care  to  take  the 
trouble.  For  he  was  a  philosopher,  content  to  let  his 
world  go  to  the  devil  its  own  way,  so  long  as  it  did  not 
interfere  with  his  passionate  greed  of  gold.  And  this 
master-passion  being  shared  by  Zeenut  Maihl  they 
hoisted  the  flag  of  truce  for  the  most  part  against  mutual 
spoliations.  So  the  Queen  played  her  game  unmolested, 
as  she  played  dumb-crambo;  at  which  her  servants,  sepa- 
rated like  their  betters  into  cliques,  tried  to  outdo  each 
other. 

"  Wah!  "  said  the  set,  jubilant  over  the  double  entendre. 
"  That  is  the  best  to-day." 

"  If  you  like  it,  a  clod  is  a  betel  nut,"  retorted  the 
leader  of  another  set.     "  Fll  wager  to  beat  it  easily." 

The  Queen  frowned.  There  was  too  much  freedom  in 
this  speech  of  Fatma's  to  suit  her. 


92  ON    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

"  And  I  will  be  the  judge,"  she  said  with  a  cruel  smile. 
"  Fatma  must  be  taught  better  manners." 

Fatma — a  woman  older  than  the  rest — salaamed 
calmly;  and  the  fact  made  the  other  clique  look  at  each 
other  uneasily.  What  certainty  gave  her  such  confidence 
as  she  plucked  a  gray  hair  from  her  own  head  and  placed 
it  on  the  black  velvet  cushion  which  lay  at  the  Queen's 
feet? 

"  That  is  my  riddle,"  she  said.  "  Let  the  w^orld  guess 
it,  and  honor  the  real  giver  of  it." 

W  hat  could  it  be?  Even  the  Queen  raised  herself  in 
curiosity;  a  sign  in  itself  of  commendation. 

"  Sure  I  know  not,"  she  began  musingly,  when  Fatma 
sprang  to  her  feet  in  theatrical  appeal. 

"Not  so!  Ornament  of  Palaces,"  she  cried.  "This 
may  puzzle  the  herd;  it  is  plain  to  the  mother  of  Princes. 
It  lies  too  lowly  now  for  recognition,  but  in  its  proper 

place "     She   snatched   the   hair  from   the   cushion, 

and,  with  a  flourish,  laid  it  on  the  head  of  a  figure  which 
appeared  as  if  by  magic  behind  her.  A  figure  dressed 
as  a  young  Moghul  Prince,  and  wearing  all  the  crown 
jewels. 

"  My  son,  Jewun!  "  cried  the  Queen,  starting  angrily. 
And  the  adverse  clique,  taking  their  cue  from  her  tone, 
shrieked  modestly,  and  scrambled  for  their  veils. 

Fatma  salaamed  to  the  very  ground. 

"  No!  Mother  of  Princes,  'tis  but  my  riddle — the  heir- 
apparent." 

Zeenut  Maihl  paused,  bewildered  for  an  instant;  then 
in  the  figure  recognized  the  features  of  a  favorite  dancing 
girl,  saw  the  pun,  and  laughed  uproariously,  delightedly. 
The  English  sentry  on  the  drawbridge  leading  to  Selim- 
gurli  might  have  heard  her  had  there  been  one;  but 
within  the  last  month  the  right  to  use  the  citadel  as  a 
private  entry  to  the  palace  had  been  given  to  the  King. 
It  enabled  him  to  cross  the  bridge  of  boats  without  the 
long  circuit  by  the  Calcutta  gate  of  the  city. 

"  A  gold  mohur  for  that  to  Fatma!  "  she  cried,  "  and  a 
post  nearer  my  person.  I  need  such  wits  sorely."  As 
she  spoke  she  rose  to  her  feet,  the  smiles  fading  from 
her  face  as  she  looked  out  along  that  white  eastward 


IN   THE  PALACE.  93 

Streak;  for  the  jest  had  brought  her  back  to  earnest,  to 
that  mixture  of  personal  ambition  for  her  son  and  real 
patriotism  for  her  country  which  kept  her  a  restless  in- 
triguer. "  I  need  men,  too,"  she  muttered.  "  Not  disso- 
lute, idle  weathercocks  or  doting  old  pantaloons!  There 
are  plenty  of  them  yonder."  So  she  stood  for  a  second, 
then  turned  like  lightning  on  her  attendants.  "  What 
time "  she  began,  then  seeing  Hafzan,  who  had  un- 
veiled at  the  door,  she  gave  a  cry  of  pleasure.  "  'Tis  well 
thou  hast  come,"  she  said,  beckoning  to  her,  "  for  thou 
must  know  God !  if  I  were  free  to  come  and  go,  what  could 

I  not  compass?     But  here,  in  this  smothering  veil " 

She  flung  even  the  gauze  apology  for  one  which  she 
wore  from  her,  and  stood  with  smooth,  bare  head,  and 
fat,  bare  arms,  her  quaint  little  pigtail  dangling  down  her 
broad  back.  Not  a  romantic  figure  truly,  but  one  in  its 
savage  temper,  strength,  obstinacy,  to  be  reckoned  with. 
"  What  time  " — she  went  on  rapidly — "  does  the  King 
receive  his  initiates?  " 

"  At  five,"  replied  Hafzan.  Seen  without  its  veil,  also, 
her  figure  showed  more  shrunk  than  ill-formed,  and  her 
pale,  thin  face  would  have  been  beautiful  but  for  its  look 
of  permanent  ill-health.  "  The  ceremony  of  saintship 
begins  then." 

"  Saints!  "  echoed  the  Queen,  with  a  hard  laugh.  "  I 
would  make  them  saints  and  maftyrs,  too,  were  I  free. 
Quick,  woman!  pen  and  ink!  And  stay!  Fatma's  puz- 
zle hath  driven  all  else  from  my  head.  What  time  was't 
that  Hussan  Askuri  was  bidden  to  come?" 

"  The  saintborn  comes  at  four,"  replied  Hafzan  cere- 
moniously, "  so  as  to  leave  leisure  ere  the  Chief  Eunuch's 
return  with  the  anrwer." 

Zeenut  Maihl's  face  was  a  study.  "  The  answer!  My 
answer  lies  there  in  Fatma's  riddle ;  take  two  gold  mohurs 
for  it,  woman,  it  hath  given  me  new  life.  Write,  Hafzan, 
to  the  chamberlain,  that  the  disciples  must  pass  the 
southern  window  of  the  King's  private  room  ere  they 
leave  the  palace.  And  call  my  litter;  I  must  see  Hussan 
Askuri  ere  I  meet  him  at  the  King's." 

An  hour  afterward,  with  bister  marks  below  her  eves, 
and  delicate  hints  of  causeful.  becoming  languor  in  face 


94  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

and  figure,  she  was  waiting  the  King's  return  from  the 
latticed  balcony  overhanging  the  river,  where  he  always 
spent  the  heats  of  the  day;  waiting  in  the  cluster  of  small, 
dark  rooms  which  lie  behind  it,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
marble  fountain-set  aqueduct  which  flows  under  a  lace- 
like marble  screen  to  the  very  steps  of  the  Hall  of 
Audience. 

"  Is  all  prepared?  "  she  asked  anxiously,  as  a  glint 
of  light  from  a  lifted  curtain  warned  her  of  the  King's 
approach. 

"  All  is  prepared,"  echoed  a  hollow,  artificial  voice. 
The  speaker  w^as  a  tall,  heavily  built  man  with  long  gray 
beard,  big  bushy  gray  eyebrows,  and  narrow  forehead. 
A  dangerous  man,  to  judge  by  the  mixed  spirituality  and 
sensuality  in  his  face;  a  man  who  could  imagine  evil,  and 
make  himself  believe  it  good.  It  was  Hussan  Askuri, 
the  priest  and  miracle-monger,  who  led  the  last  of  the 
Moghuls  by  the  nose.  It  was  not  a  difficult  task,  for 
Bahadur  Shah,  who  came  tottering  across  the  intervening 
sunlit  space,  was  but  a  poor  creature.  The  first  impres- 
sion he  gave  was  of  extreme  old  age.  It  was  evident 
in  the  sparse  hair,  the  high,  hollow  cheeks,  the  waxy  skin, 
the  purple  glaze  over  the  eyes.  The  next  was  of  a  feeble- 
ness beyond  even  his  apparent  years.  He  seemed  fiber- 
less,  mind  and  body.  Yet  released  at  the  door  of  privacy, 
from  the  eunuch's  supporting  hands,  he  ambled  gayly 
enough  to  a  seat,  and  exclaimed  vivaciously: 

"A  moment!  A  moment!  good  priest  and  physician. 
My  mind  first;  my  body  after.  The  gift  is  on  me.  I 
feel  it  working,  and  the  historian  must  write  of  me  more 
as  poet  than  king." 

"  As  the  king  of  poets,  sire,"  suggested  Hussan  Askuri 
pompously. 

Bahadur  Shah  smiled  fatuously.  "Good!  Good!  I 
will  weave  that  thought  with  mine  into  perfumed  poesy." 
He  raised  one  slender  hand  for  silence,  and  with  the 
fingers  of  the  other  continued  counting  feet  laboriously, 
until  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  he  declaimed: 

"  Baliadur  Shah,  sure  all  the  world  will  know  it, 
Was  poet  more  than  king,  yet  king  of  poets." 


IN    THE  PALACE.  95 

Zeenut  Maihl  gave  a  cry  of  admiration.  "Quick! 
Fir-sahib,  quick!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Such  a  gem  must 
not  be  lost." 

"  But  'tis  yet  to  be  polished,"  began  the  King  com- 
placently. 

"  That  is  the  office  of  the  scribe,"  rephed  Hussan 
Askuri,  as  he  drew  out  his  ink-horn.  He  was  by  pro- 
fession an  ornamental  writer,  and  gained  great  influence 
with  the  old  poetaster  by  gathering  up  the  royal  frag- 
ments and  hiding  their  lameness  amid  magnificent  curves 
and  flourishes. 

"  And  now,  P/r-sahib,"  continued  the  Queen,  with  a 
look  of  loving  anxiety  at  her  lord,  "  for  this  strange 
ailment  of  which  I  spoke  to  you " 

The  King's  face  lost  its  self-importance  as  if  he  had 
been  suddenly  recalled  to  unpleasant  memory.  "  'Tis 
naught  of  import,"  he  said  hastily.  "  The  Queen  will 
have  it  1  start  and  sweat  of  nights.  But  this  is  but  the 
timorous  dread  of  one  in  her  condition.  I  am  well 
enough." 

"My  lord,  F/r-sahib,  hath  indeed  renewed  his  youth 
through  thy  pious  breathing  of  thy  own  life  into  his 
mouth — as  time  will  show,"  murmured  the  Queen  with 
modest,  downcast  look.  "  But  last  night  he  muttered 
in  his  sleep  of  enemies " 

Bahadur  Shah  gave  a  gasp  of  drsmay.  "  Of  enemies! 
Nay! — did  I  truly?     Thou  didst  not  tell  me  this." 

"  I  would  not  distress  my  lord,  till  fear  was  over. 
Now  that  the  pious  priest,  who  hath  the  ear  of  the 
Almighty " 

Hussan  Askuri,  who  had  stepped  forward  to  gaze  at 
the  King,  began  to  mutter  prayers.  "  'Tis  that  cooling 
draught  of  Ahsan-Oolah's  stands  in  the  way,"  he  gasped, 
his  hands  and  face  working  as  if  he  w'ere  in  deadly  con- 
flict with  an  vmseen  foe.  "  No  carnal  remedy — Ah!  God 
be  praised!  I  see,  I  see!  The  eye  of  faith  opens — Hail 
venomous  beast,  I  have  you!"  With  these  words  he 
rushed  to  the  King's  couch,  and,  scattering  its  cushions, 
held  up  at  arm's  length  a  lizard.  Held  by  the  tail,  it 
seemed  in  semi-darkness  to  writhe  and  wriggle. 

"  Oiiee!     Umina!"  veiled  the  Great  Moghul,  shrinking 


96  ojv  the  face  of  the  waters. 

to  nothing  in  his  seat,  and  using  after  his  wont  the 
vvoniaii  b  v_ry — sure  sign  ot  his  liauns. 

'■  J:ear  hoc!"  crieu  me  pnesi.  "  Ihe  mutterings  are 
stiUea,  tne  sweats  aried!  i\ncl  thus  will  i  aeai  also  with 
tuobc  WHO  sent  it."  Jne  tlung  his  captive  on  tne  ground 
ana  stamped  it  under  toot. 

"  Vvas  It — was  it  a  bis-cobra,  think  you?  "  fakered  the 
King,  hie  had  hold  of  Zeenut  JViami  s  hand  like  a 
fngaiened  child.  Ihe  priest  shook  his  head.  "It  was 
no  carnal  creature,"  he  said  in  a  hollow,  chanting  voice. 
"  It  was  an  emissary  of  evil  made  helpless  by  prayer. 
Give  Heaven  the  praise."  Bahadur  Shah  began  on  his 
creed  promptly,  but  the  priest  frowned. 

"  Through  his  servant,"  he  went  on.  "  For  day  and 
night,  night  and  day,  I  pray  for  the  King.  And  I  see 
visions,  1  dream  dreams.  Last  night,  while  my  lord 
muttered  of  enemies,  Hussan  Askuri  saw  a  flood  coming 
from  the  West,  and  on  its  topmost  wave,  upon  a  raft  of 
faithful  swords,  as  on  a  throne,  sate " 

"  With  due  respect,"  came  voices  from  the  curtained 
door.  "  The  disciples  await  initiation  in  the  Hall  of 
Audience." 

Hussan  Askuri  and  the  Queen  exchanged  looks.  The 
interruption  was  unwelcome,  though  strangely  germane 
to  the  subject. 

"  I  will  hear  thee  finish  the  dream  afterward,"  fussed 
the  King,  rising  in  a  bustle;  for  he  prized  his  saintship 
next  to  his  poetry.  "  I  must  not  keep  my  pupils  from 
grace.  Hast  the  kerchiefs  ready,  Zeenut?"  There  was 
something  almost  touching  in  the  confidence  of  his 
appeal  to  her.  It  was  that  of  a  child  to  its  mother,  cer- 
tain of  what  it  demanded. 

"  All  things  are  ready,"  she  replied  tartly,  with  a  mean- 
ing and  vexed  look  at  the  miracle-monger;  for  they  had 
meant  to  finish  the  dream  before  the  initiation. 

"  A  goodly  choice,"  said  the  royal  saint,  as  he  looked 
over  the  tiny  silk  squares,  each  embroidered  with  a  text 
from  the  Koran,  which  she  took  out  of  a  basket.  "  But 
I  need  many,  P;>-sahib.  Folk  come  fast,  of  late,  to  have 
the  way  of  virtue  pointed  by  this  poor  hand.  And 
thou  hast  more  in  the  basket,  I  see,  Zeenut,  ready 
against " 


liV    THE   PALACE.  97 

"  They  are  but  begun,"  put  in  the  Queen,  hastily  cover- 
ing the  basket.  "  Nor  will  they,  likely,  be  needed,  since 
the  leave  season  passes,  and  'tis  the  soldiers  who  come 
most  to  be  disciples  to  the  defender  of  their  faith." 

"  I  am  the  better  pleased,"  replied  the  King  with  edify- 
ing humility.  "  This  summer  hath  too  many  pupils  as 
it  is.  Come!  FzV-sahib,  and  support  me  through  mine 
office  with  real  saintship." 

As  the  curtain  fell  behind  them  Zeenut  Maihl  crossed 
swiftly  to  the  crushed  lizard  and  raised  it  gingerly. 

"  No  carnal  creature,"  she  repeated.  It  was  not;  only 
a  deft  piece  of  patchwork.  Yet  it,  or  something  else, 
made  her  shiver  as  she  dropped  the  tell-tale  remains  into 
the  basket.  This  man  Hussan  Askuri  sometimes  seemed 
to  her  own  superstition  a  saint,  sometimes  to  her  clear 
head  a  mere  sinner.  She  was  not  quite  certain  of  any- 
thing about  him  save  that  his  delusions,  his  dreams,  his 
miracles,  suited  her  purpose  equally,  whether  they  were 
false  or  true. 

So  she  crossed  over  again  to  a  marble  lattice  and 
perred  through  a  convenient  peephole  toward  the 
Audience  Hall,  w^hich  rose  across  an  intervening  stretch 
of  platform  in  white  shadow,  and  whiter  light.  She  could 
not  see  or  hear  much;  but  enough  to  show  her  that 
everything  was  going  on  the  same  as  usual.  The  disci- 
ples, most  of  them  in  full  uniform,  went  up  and  down  the 
steps  calmly,  and  the  w'ordy  exordium  on  the  cardinal 
virtues  went  on  and  on.  How  different  it  might  be,  she 
thought,  if  she  had  the  voice.  She  would  rouse  more 
than  those  faint  "  Wah!  JVahs."  She  would  make  the 
fire  come  to  men's  eyes.  In  a  sort  of  pet  with  her  own 
helplessness,  she  moved  away  and  so.  through  another 
room,  went  to  stand  at  another  lattice.  It  looked  south 
over  a  strip  of  garden,  and  there  was  an  open  square 
left  in  the  tracer}'  through  which  a  face  might  look,  a 
hand  might  pass.  And  as  she  stood  she  counted  the  re- 
maining kerchiefs  in  the  basket  she  still  held.  They  were 
all  of  bright  green  silk  and  bore  the  same  lettering.  It 
was  the  Great  Cry:  "  Dccii!  Dccn!  Fiiffeh  Mohammed!" 
As  dangerous  a  woman  this,  as  Hussan  Askuri  was  a 
man;  as  dangerous,  both  of  them,  to  peaceful  life,  as  the 


98  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

fabled  bis-cobra,  at  the  idea  of  which  the  foohsh  old  King 
had  cried,  '' Oiicc,  Umma!''  like  any  woman. 

And  now  at  last  that  w^ordy  exordium  must  be  over, 
for,  along  the  garden  path,  came  the  clank  of  accouter- 
ments.  Zeenut  Maihl's  listless  figure  seem  galvanized 
to  sudden  life,  there  was  a  flutter  of  green  at  the  open 
square,  and  her  voice  follow-ed  the  shower  of  silk. 

"  These  banners  from  the  Defender  to  his  soldiers." 

But  as  she  spoke,  a  stir  of  excitement,  a  subdued  mur- 
mur of  expectation  reached  her  ear  from  outside,  and, 
leaning  forward,  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  swinging  lit- 
ter coming  along  the  path.  Mahboob  returned  already! 
Vexatious,  indeed,  when  she  had  turned  and  planned 
everything  so  as  to  be  sure  of  having  the  King  in  her 
apartments  when  the  answer  arrived.  None  others 
would  know  it  before  she  did — unless! — the  thought  ob- 
literated all  others,  and  she  flew  back  to  the  further 
lattice.  The  King,  returning  from  the  initiation,  had 
paused  in  the  middle  of  the  platform  at  the  sight  of  the 
approaching  litter,  and  his  courtiers,  as  if  by  instinct,  had 
grouped  themselves  roimd  him,  leaving  him  the  central 
figure.  The  cruel  sunlight  streamed  down  on  the  tawdry 
court,  on  the  worn-out  old  man. 

It  seemed  interminable  to  the  woman  behind  the  lat- 
tice, that  pause  while  the  fat  eunuch  was  helped  from  his 
litter.  vShe  could  have  screamed  to  him  for  the  answer, 
could  have  had  at  his  fat  carcass  with  her  hands  for  its 
slowness.  But  the  old  King  had  better  blood  in  his 
veins.  He  stood  quietly,  his  tawdry  court  around  him; 
behind  him  the  marble,  and  gold,  and  mosaics  of  his 
ancestors. 

"  What  news,  slave?  "  he  asked  boldly. 

"  None,  Light  of  the  Faithful,"  replied  the  Chief 
Eunuch. 

"  None!  "  The  semi-circle  closed  in  a  little,  every  face 
full  of  disappointed  curiosity. 

"  I  have  a  letter  for  the  Lord  of  the  World  with  me. 
Its  substance  is  this.  The  Sirkar  will  recognize  no  heir. 
During  the  lifetime  of  our  Great  Master,  whose  life  be 
prolonged  forever,  the  Sirkar  will  make  no  promise  of 
any  kind,  either  to  his  majesty,  or  to  any  other  member 


IN    THE    CITY.  99 

of  the  royal  family.     It  is  to  remain  as  if  there  were  no 
succession." 

No  succession !  Above  the  sudden  murmur  of  univer- 
sal surprise  and  dissent,  a  woman's  cry  of  inarticulate 
rage  came  from  behind  the  lattice.  The  King  turned  to- 
ward the  sound  instinctively.  "  I  must  to  the  Queen," 
he  murmured  helplessly,  "  1  must  to  the  Queen." 


CHAPTER  II. 

IN    THE    CITY. 

"  Come,  beauty,  rare,  divine, 
Thy  lover  like  a  vine 
With  tendril  arms  entwine  ; 
Lay  rose  red  lips  to  mine, 
Bewildering  as  wine." 

The  song  came  in  little  insistent  trills  and  quaverings, 
and  quaint  recurring  cadences,  which  matched  the  insist- 
ency of  the  rhymes.  The  singer  was  a  young  man  of 
about  three-and-twenty,  and  as  he  sang,  seated  on  a 
Persian  rug  on  the  top  of  a  roof,  he  played  an  elaborate 
symphony  of  trills  and  cadences  to  match  upon  a  tink- 
ling saringi.  He  was  small,  slight,'  with  a  bright,  viva- 
cious face,  smooth  shaven,  save  for  a  thin  mustache 
trimmed  into  a  faint  fine  fringe.  His  costume  marked 
him  as  a  dandy  of  the  first  water,  and  he  smelled  horribly 
of  musk. 

The  roof  on  which  he  sat  was  a  secluded  roof,  pro- 
tected from  view,  evn  from  other  roofs,  by  high  latticed 
walls;  its  only  connection  with  the  world  below  it  being 
by  a  dizzy  brick  ladder  of  a  stair  climbing  down  fearlessly 
from  one  corner.  Across  the  further  end  stretched  a 
sort  of  veranda,  inclosed  by  lattice  and  screens.  But 
the  middle  arch  being  open  showed  a  blue  and  white 
striped  carpet,  and  a  low  reed  stool.  Nothing  more. 
But  a  sweet  voice  came  from  its  unseen  corner. 

"  Art  not  ashamed,  Abool,  to  come  to  my  discreet 
house  among  godly  folk  and  sing  lewd   songs?     W^ill 


100  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

they  not  think  iU  of  me?  And  if  thou  comest  drunken 
horribly  with  wine,  as  thou  didst  last  week,  claiming 
audience  of  me,  thine  aunt,  not  all  that  title  will  save 
me  from  aspersion.  And  if  I  lose  this  calm  retreat, 
whither  shall  poor  Newasi  go?" 

"Nay,  kind  one!"  cried  Prince  Abool-Bukr,  "that 
shall  never  be."  So  saying,  he  cast  away  the  tinkling 
sariiigi  and  from  the  litter  of  musical  instruments  around 
him  laid  impulsive  hands  on  a  long-necked  fiddle  with 
a  'cello  tone  in  it.  "  I  would  sing  psalms  to  please  mine 
aunt,"  he  went  on  in  reckless  gayety,  "  but  that  I  know 
none.  Will  pious  Saadi  suit  your  sober  neighbors,  since 
lovelorn  Hafiz  shocks  them?  But  no!  I  can  never 
stomach  his  sentimental  sanctity,  so  back  we  go  to  the 
wisest  of  all  poets." 

The  high,  thin  tenor  ran  on  without  a  break  into 
a  minor  key,  and  a  stanza  of  the  Great  Tentmakers.  And 
as  it  quivered  and  quavered  over  the  illusion  of  life,  a 
woman's  figure  came  to  lean  against  the  central  arch, 
and  look  down  on  the  singer  with  kindly  eyes. 

They  were  the  most  beautiful  eyes  in  the  world. 
Such  is  the  consensus  of  opinion  among  all  who  ever  saw 
them.  Judged,  indeed,  by  this  standard,  the  Princess 
Farkhoonda  Zamani,  alias  Newasi  Begum,  the  widow  of 
one  of  the  King's  younger  sons,  must  have  had  that  mys- 
terious charm  which  is  beyond  beauty.  But  she  was 
beautiful  also,  though  smallpox  had  left  its  marks  upon 
her.  Chiefly,  however,  by  a  thickening  of  the  skin. 
which  brought  an  opaque  pallor,  giving  her  oval  face 
a  look  of  carved  ivory.  In  truth,  this  memento  of  the 
past  tragedy,  which  at  the  age  of  thirteen  had  brought 
her,  the  half-wedded  bride,  to  death's  door,  and  sent  her 
fifteen-year-old  bridegroom  from  the  festival  to  the 
grave,  enhanced,  rather  than  detracted  from  her  beauty. 
Her  lips  were  reddened  after  the  fashion  of  court  women, 
her  short-sighted  hazel  eyes  were  heavily  blackened  witli 
antimony;  but  she  wore  no  jewels,  and  her  graceful, 
sweeping  Delhi  dress  was  of  deadest,  purest  white,  em- 
broidered in  finest  needlework  round  hems  and  seams, 
and  relieved  only  by  the  lighter  folds  of  her  white,  lace- 
like veil.    For  she  had  forsworn  colors  when  she  fled  from 


IN    THE   CITY.  lOI 

court-life  and  its  many  intrigues  for  an  alliance  with  the 
charming  widow;  and,  on  the  plea  of  a  call  to  a  religious 
and  celibate  life,  had  taken  up  her  abode  in  the  Mufti's 
Alley.  This  was  a  secluded  little  lane  off  the  bazaar, 
which  lies  to  the  south  of  the  Jumma  Mosque,  where  a 
score  or  two  of  the  Mohanmiedan  families  connected 
with  the  late  chief  magistrate  of  the  city  lived,  decently, 
respectably,  respectedly.  To  do  this,  having  sometimes 
to  close  the  gate  at  the  entrance  of  the  alley,  and  so  shut 
out  the  wicked  world  around  them.  But  that  whole 
quarter  of  the  city  held  many  such  learned,  well-born, 
well-doing  folk.  Hussan  Askari's  house  lay  within  a 
stone's  throw  of  the  Mufti's  Alley;  Ahsan-Oolah's  not 
far  off,  and,  all  about,  rose  tall,  windowless  buildings, 
standing  sentinel  blindly  over  the  naughtiness  around 
them;  but  they  had  eyes  within,  and  ears  also.  So  the 
hands  belonging  to  them  were  held  up  in  horror  over  the 
doings  of  the  survival,  and — despite  race  and  religion — 
an  inevitably  reluctant,  yet  inevitably  firm  adherence 
was  given  to  civilization.  Even  the  womenfolk  on  the 
high  roofs  knew  something  of  the  mysterious  woman 
across  the  sea,  who  reigned  over  the  Huzoors  and  made 
them  pitiful  to  women.  And  Farkhoonda  Zamani 
read  the  London  news,  with  great  interest,  in  the  news- 
paper which  Abool-Bukr  used  to  bring  her  regularly. 
Hers  was  the  highest  roof  of  all,  save  one  at  the  back  of 
her  veranda  room;  so  close  to  it  indeed  that  the  same 
nccm  tree  touched  both. 

It  was  not  a  quarter,  therefore,  in  which  the  leader  of 
the  fastest  set  in  the  palace  might  have  been  expected 
to  be  a  constant  visitor.  But  he  was.  And  the  decorous 
alley  put  up  with  his  songs  patiently.  Partly,  no  doubt, 
for  his  aunt's  sake;  more  for  his  own  charm  of  manner, 
which  always  gained  him  a  consideration  better  men 
might  have  lacked.  Being  the  late  heir-apparent's  eld- 
est son,  he  was  certain  of  succeeding  to  the  throne  if  he 
outlived  all  his  uncles ;  for  the  claims  of  the  elder  genera- 
tion are,  by  Moghul  law,  paramount  over  those  of  the 
younger.  Now,  the  inevitable  harking  back  to  the  eld- 
est branch,  after  years  of  power  enjoyed  by  the  junior 
ones,  which  this  plan  necessitates,  being  responsible  for 


I02  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

half  the  wars  and  murders  which  mark  an  Indian  succes- 
sion, some  of  these  learned  progressive  folk  admitted 
tentatively  that  the  Western  plan  was  better;  and  that  if 
Prince  Abool-Bukr  were  only  other  than  he  was,  he 
might  as  well  succeed  now  as  later  on. 

The  idea  roused  a  like  ambition  in  the  young  idler, 
now  and  again,  but  as  a  rule  he  was  content  to  be  the  best 
musician  in  Delhi,  the  boldest  gambler,  the  fastest  liver. 
Yet  through  all,  he  kept  his  hold  on  one  kind  woman's 
hand;  and  those  who  knew  the  prince  and  princess 
have  never  a  word  to  say  against  the  friendship  which 
led  to  that  singing  of  Omar  Khayyam  upon  the  latticed 
roof. 

"  Life  could  be  better  than  that  for  thee,  nephew,  didst 
thou  but  choose,"  said  her  soft  voice,  interrupting  the 
cynicism,  while  her  delicate  fingers,  touching  the  singer's 
shoulder  as  if  in  reproof,  lingered  there  tenderly.  He 
bent  his  smooth  cheek  impulsively  to  caress  the  hand  so 
close  to  it,  with  a  frank,  boyish  action.  The  next  mo- 
ment, however,  he  had  started  to  his  feet;  the  minor 
tone  changed  to  a  dance  measure,  then  ended  in  a  wild 
discord,  and  a  wilder  laugh.  Her  use  of  the  word 
nephew  was  apt  to  rouse  his  recklessness,  for  she  was 
but  a  month  or  two  older  than  he. 

"  Thou  canst  not  make  me  other  than  I  was  born " 

he  began;  but  she  interrupted  him  quickly. 

"  Thou  wast  born  of  good  parts  enougli,  God  knows." 

"  But  my  father  deemed  me  fool,  therefore  I  was 
brought  up  in  a  stable,  mine  aunt;  and  sang  in  brothels 
ere  I  knew  what  the  word  meant.  So  'tis  sheer  waste 
time  to  interview  my  scandalized  relations  as  thou  dost, 
and  beg  them  to  take  me  serious.  By  all  the  courtesans 
in  the  Thunbi  Bazaar,  Newasi.  I  take  not  myself  so.  Nor 
am  I  worse  than  the  holy,  pious  aunt:  I  take  paradise 
now,  and  leave  hell  to  the  last.  They  choose  the  other 
way.  And  make  a  better  bargain  for  pleasure  than  I, 
seeing  that  the  astrologers  give  me  a  short  life,  a  bloody 
death." 

Newasi  caught  her  hand  back  to  another  resting  place 
above  her  heart.  "A — a  bloody  death!"  she  echoed; 
"  who— who  told  the  lie?  " 


IN   THE   CITY.  103 

Prince  Abool-pjiikr  shook  his  head  with  a  kindly  smile. 
"  Oh !  heed  it  not,  kind  lady.  Such  is  the  fashion  with 
soothsayers  nowadays.  The  heavens  are  black  with 
portents.  Someone's  cow  hath  three  calves,  someone's 
child  hath  ten  noses  and  a  tail.  Fire  hath  come  from 
heaven — thou  thyself  didst  tell  me  some  such  wind- 
sucker's  tale — or  from  hell  more  likely " 

"  Nay!  but  it  is  true,"  she  interrupted  eagerly;  "  I  had 
it  from  the  milkwoman,  who  comes  from  the  village 
where  the  suttee " 

"  The   mouse   began   to   gnaw   the   rope.     The   rope 

began  to  bend  the  ox.     The  ox  began "  hummed 

the  prince  irreverently. 

Newasi  stamped  her  foot.  "  But  it  is  true,  scoffer! 
There  is  a  festival  of  it  to-day  in  some  idol  temple — may 
it  be  defiled!  The  widow  would  have  burned,  after  sin- 
ful custom,  but  was  prevented  by  the  Huzoors.  And 
rightly.  Yet,  God  knows — seeing  the  poor  soul  had  to 
burn  sometime  through  being  an  idolater — they  might 
have  let  her  burn  with  her  love " 

Abool  laughed  softly.  "  And  yet  thou  wdlt  have 
naught  of  Hafiz — Hafiz  the  love-lorn!  Verily,  Newasi, 
thou  art  true  woman." 

She  ignored  the  interruption.  "  So  being  hindered 
she  went  to  Benares,  and  there  this  fire  fell  on  her 
through  prayer,  and  burned  hands  and  feet " 

"  But  not  her  face,"  cried  Prince  Abool,  thrumming 
the  muted  strings  and  making  them  sound  like  a  tom- 
tom. "  ril  wager  my  best  pigeon,  not  her  face,  if  she 
be  a  good-looking  wench!  And  since  fire  follows  on 
other  things  besides  prayer,  she  was  a  fool  not  to  get 
it,  like  me,  through  pleasure  instead.  To  burn  a  virgin! 
What  a  dreary  tale!  Look  not  so  shocked,  Newasi!  a 
man  must  enjoy  these  presents,  when  folk  around  him 
waste  half  the  time  in  dreaming  of  a  future — of  some- 
thing better  to  come — as  thou  dost "     He  paused, 

and  a  soft  eager  ring  came  to  his  voice.  "  If  thou 
couldst  only  forget  all  that — forget  who  I  might  be  in 
the  years  to  come — forget  what  thou  wouldst  have  been 
had  my  respected  uncle  not  preferred  peace  to  pleasure — 
for  it  never  came  to  pass,  remember,  it  never  came  to  pass 


I04  ON    THE   FACE    OF   THE    WATERS. 

— then  we  two,  you  and  I "  He  paused  again,  per- 
haps at  the  sudden  shrinking  in  her  eyes,  and  gave  a 
restless  laugh.  "  As  'tis,  the  present  must  suffice,"  he 
added  lightly,  "  and  even  so  thou  dost  mourn  for  what  I 
might  be  if  the  grace  of  God  took  me  unawares.  Thou 
hast  caught  the  dreaming  trick,  mayhap,  from  the  Prince 
of  Dreamers  yonder." 

He  moved  over  to  the  outer  parapet  and  waved  his 
hand  toward  Plussan  Askuri's  house.  Then  his  vagrant 
attention  turned  swiftly  to  something  which  he  could 
see  in  a  peep  of  bazaar  visible  from  this  new  point  of 
view. 

"  Three,  four,  five  trays  of  sweetstufTs!  and  one  of  milk 
and  butter,"  he  cried  eagerly,  "  and  by  my  corn-mer- 
chant's bill — which  I  must  pay  soon  or  starve — the 
carriers  are  palace  folk!  Is  there,  by  chance,  a  marriage 
in  the  clan?  Why  didst  not  tell  me  before,  Newasi?  then 
I  could  have  gone  as  musician  and  earned  a  few  rupees." 

He  gave  a  flourish  of  his  bow,  so  drawing  forth  a 
lugubrious  wail  from  the  long-necked  fiddle. 

"  No  marriage  that  I  wot  of,"  she  replied.  smiHng 
fondly  over  his  heedless  gayety.  "  The  trays  will  be  go- 
ing to  the  F/r-sahib's  house.  They  have  gone  every 
Thursday  these  few  w-eeks  past,  ever  since  the  Queen  took 
ill  on  hearing  the  answer  about  the  heirship.  She  vowed 
it  then  every  week,  so  that  the  holy  man's  prayer  might 
bring  success  to  our  cousin  of  Persia  in  this  war.  God 
save  the  very  dust  of  it  from  the  winds  of  misfortune 
so  long  as  dust  and  wind  exist,"  she  added  piously. 

Prince  Abool-Bukr  turned  round  on  her  sharply  with 
anxiety  in  his  face. 

"  So!  Thou  too  canst  quote  the  proclamation  like 
other  fools — a  fool's  message  to  other  fools.  Where 
didst  thou  see  it?  " 

Newasi  looked  at  him  disdainfully.  "  Can  I  not  read, 
nephew,  and  are  there  many  in  Delhi  as  heedless  as  thou? 
W'hy,  even  the  Mufti's  people  discuss  such  things." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Ay!  they  will  talk. 
Gossip  hath  a  double  tongue  and  wings  too,  nowadays. 
In  old  time  the  first  tellers  of  a  tale  had  half  forgot  it,  ere 


IJV    THE    CITY.  T05 

the  last  hearer  heard  it;  now  the  whole  world  is  agog 
in  half  an  hour.  But  it  means  naught.  Even  his  heir- 
ship. Who  cares  in  Delhi?  None! — out  of  the  palace, 
none!  Not  even  I.  Yet  mischief  may  come  of  it;  so 
have  naught  to  do  with  dreamings,  Newasi,  if  only  for 
my  sake.  Remember  the  old  saw,  '  Weevils  are  ground 
with  the  corn.'  " 

"  Thou  canst  scarce  call  thyself  that,  Abool,  and  thou 
so  near  the  throne,"  she  said,  still  more  coldly. 

"  Have  me  what  pleaseth  thee,  kind  one,"  he  replied, 
a  trifle  impatiently;  "  but  remember  also  that  '  the  body 
is  slapped  in  the  killing  of  mosquitoes.'  "  Then,  sud- 
denly, an  odd  change  came  to  his  mobile  face.  It  grew 
strained,  haggard;  his  voice  had  a  growing  tremor  in  it. 
"  Lo!  I  tell  thee,  Newasi,  that  Sheeali  woman,  Zeenut 
Maihl,  in  her  plots  for  that  young  fool,  her  son,  will  hang 
the  lot  of  «s.  I  sw  ear  I  feel  a  rope  around  my  neck  each 
time  I  think  of  her.  I  who  only  want  to  be  let  live  as  I 
like — not  to  die  before  my  time — die  and  lose  all  the  love 
and  the  laughter;  die  mayhap  in  the  sunlight;  die  when 
there  is  no  need;  I  seem  to  see  it — the  sunlight — and  I 
helpless — helpless!  " 

He  hid  his  face  in  his  shuddering  hands  as  if  to  shut 
out  some  sight  before  his  very  eyes. 

"Abool!  Abool!  What  is't,  dear?  Look  not  so 
strange,"  she  cried,  stretching  outlier  hand  toward  him, 
yet  standing  aloof  as  if  in  vague  alarm.  Her  voice 
seemed  to  bring  him  back  to  realities;  he  looked  up  with 
a  reckless  laugh. 

"  'Tis  the  wine  does  it,"  he  said.  "  If  I  lived  sober — 
with  thee,  mine  aunt — these  terrors  would  not  come. 
Nay!  be  not  frightened.  Hanging  is  a  bloodless  death, 
and  that  would  confound  the  soothsayer;  so  it  cuts  both 
ways.  And  now,  since  I  must  have  more  wine  or  weep, 
I  will  leave  thee,  Newasi." 

"For  the  bazaar?"  she  asked  reproachfully. 

"  For  life  and  laughter.  Lo !  Newasi,  thou  thyself 
wouldst  laugh  at  those  new-come  Bunjarah  folk  I  told 
thee  of,  who  imitate  the  sahibs  so  well.  But  for  their 
eyes,"  here  he  nodded  gayly  to  someone  below,  "  they 


io6  ON    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

should  get  one  of  Mufti's  folk  to  play,"  he  added,  his 
attention  as  usual  following  the  first  lead.  "  Saw  you 
ever  such  blue  ones  as  the  boy  has  yonder?  " 

Newasi,  drawing  her  veil  tighter,  stepped  close  to 
his  side  and  peered  gingerly. 

"  His  sister's  are  as  blue,  his  cousin's  also.  It  runs  in 
the  blood,  they  say.  I  cannot  like  them.  Dost  thou 
not  prefer  the  dark  also?  " 

She  raised  hers  to  his  innocently  enough,  then  shrank 
back  from  the  sudden  passion  of  admiration  she  saw  blaz- 
ing in  them.  Shrank  so  that  her  arm  touched  his  no 
longer.     The  action  checked  him,  made  him  savage. 

"  I  like  black  ones  best,"  he  said  insolently;  "  big,  black, 
staring  eyes  such  as  my  mother  swears  my  betrothed 
has  to  perfection.  Thou  hast  not  seen  her  yet,  Newasi; 
so  thou  canst  keep  me  company  in  imagining  them  lan- 
guishing with  love.  They  will  not  have  to  languish  long 
for — hast  thou  heard  it?  The  King  hath  fixed  the  wed- 
ding." He  paused,  then  added  in  a  low,  cruel  voice, 
"  Art  glad,  Newasi?  " 

But  her  temper  could  be  roused  too,  and  her  heart  had 
beat  in  answer  to  his  look  in  a  way  which  ended  calm. 
"  Ay!  It  will  stop  this  farce  of  coming  thither  for  study 
and  learning — as  to-day — without  a  line  scanned." 

"  Thou  dost  study  enough  for  both,  as  thou  art  virtu- 
ous enough  for  both,"  he  retorted.  "  I  am  but  flesh  and 
blood,  and  my  small  brain  will  hold  no  more  than  it  can 
gather  from  bazaar  tongues." 

"  Of  lies,  doubtless." 

"  Lies  if  thou  wilt.  But  they  fill  the  mind  as  easily  as 
truth,  and  fit  facts  better.  As  the  lie  the  courtesans  tell  of 
my  coming  hither  fits  fact  better  than  thy  reason.  Dost 
know  it?  "Shall  I  tell  it  thee?  " 

"  Yea!  tell  it  me,"  she  answered  swiftly,  her  whole  face 
ablaze  with  anger,  pride,  resentment.  His  matched  it, 
but  with  a  vast  affection  and  admiration  added  which 
increased  his  excitement.  "  The  lie,  did  I  say? "  he 
echoed,  "nay,  the  truth.  For  why  do  I  come?  Why 
dost  let  me  come?  Answer  me  in  truth?"  There  was 
an  instant's  silence,  then  he  went  on  recklessly:  "What 
need  to  ask?     We  both  know.     And  why,  in  God's  name, 


IN    THE    CITY.  107 

having  come — come  to  see  thy  soft  eyes,  hear  thy  soft 
voice,  know  thy  soft  heart,  do  I  go  away  again  hke  a 
fool?  I  who  take  pleasure  elsewhere  as  I  choose.  I  will 
be  a  fool  no  longer.  Xay!  do  not  struggle.  I  will  but 
force  thee  to  the  truth.  1  will  not  even  kiss  thee — God 
knows  there  are  women    and  to  spare  for  that — there 

is  but  one  woman  whom  Abool-Bukr  cares  to "  he 

broke  of¥,  flung  the  hands  he  had  seized  away  from  him 
with  a  muttered  curse,  and  stepped  back  from  her,  calming 
himself  with  an  eiifort.  "  That  comes  of  making  Abool- 
Bukr  in  earnest  for  once.  Did  I  not  warn  thee  it  was  not 
wise?"  he  said,  looking  at  her  almost  reproachfully,  as 
she  stood  trying  to  be  calm  also,  trying  to  hide  the  beat- 
ing of  her  heart. 

"  'Tis  not  wise,  for  sure,  to  speak  foolishness,"  she 
murmured,  attempting  unconsciousness.  "  Yet  do  I 
not  understand " 

He  shook  his  delicate  hand  in  derisive  denial.  "  Why, 
the  Princess  Farkhoonda  refuses  to  marry!  Nay, 
Newasi,  we  are  two  fools  for  our  pains.  That  is  God's 
truth  between  us.     So  now  for  lies  in  the  bazaar." 

"  Peace  go  with  thee."  There  was  a  sudden  regret, 
almost  a  wistful  entreaty  in  the  farewell  she  sent  after 
him.  There  was  none  in  his  reply,  given  with  a  back- 
ward look  as  his  gay  figure  went  downward  dizzily. 
"  Nay!     Peace  stays  ever  with  thee." 

It  was  true.  Those  other  women  of  whom  he  had 
spoken  gave  him  kisses  galore,  but  this  one?  It  was  a 
refinement  of  sensuality,  in  a  way,  to  go  as  he  had  come. 
But  Newasi  went  back  to  her  books  with  a  sigh,  telling 
herself  that  her  despondency  was  due  to  Abool's  hope- 
less lack  of  ambition.  If  he  would  only  show  his 
natural  parts,  only  let  these  new  rulers  see  that  he  had 
the  makings  of  a  king  in  him !  As  for  the  other  foolish- 
ness, if  the  old  King  would  give  his  consent — if  it  w^ere 
made  clear  that  she  was  not  really She  pulled  her- 
self up  with  a  start,  said  a  prayer  or  two,  and  went  on 
wnth  The  Mirror  of  Good  Behavior,  through  which  she  was 
wading  diligently.  The  writer  of  it  had  not  been  a 
beautiful  woman,  wddowed  before  she  was  a  wife,  but  his 
ideals  were  high. 


io8  OA^    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

Abool-Bukr  meanwhile  was  already  in  a  house  with  a 
wooden  balcony.  There  were  many  such  in  the  Thunbi 
Bazaar,  giving  it  an  airiness,  a  cleanliness,  a  neatness  it 
would  otherwise  have  lacked.  But  Gul-anari's  was  the 
biggest,  the  most  patronized;  not  only  for  the  tired 
heads  which  looked  out  unblushingly  from  it,  but  for 
the  news  and  gossip  always  to  be  had  there.  The 
lounging  crowds  looked  up  and  asked  for  it,  as  they 
drifted  backward  and  forward  aimlessly,  indifferently, 
among  the  fighting  cjuails  in  their  hooded  cages,  the 
dogs  snarling  in  the  filth  of  the  gutters,  while  a  mingled 
scent  of  musk,  and  drains,  and  humanity  steamed 
through  the  hot  sunshine.  Sometimes  a  corpse  lay  in 
the  very  roadway  awaiting  burial,  but  it  provoked  no 
more  notice  than  a  passing  remark  that  Nargeeza  or 
Yasmeena  had  been  a  good  one  while  she  lasted.  For 
there  was  a  hideous,  horrible  lack  of  humanity  about 
the  Thunbi  Bazaar;  even  in  the  very  women  themselves, 
with  their  foreheads  narrowed  by  plastered  hair  to  a 
mere  wedge  above  a  bar  of  continuous  eyebrow,  their 
lips  crimsoned  in  unnatural  curves,  their  teeth  reddened 
with  pan  or  studded  with  gold  wire,  their  figures  stiff- 
ened to  artificial  prominence.  It  was  as  if  humanity, 
tired  of  its  own  beauty,  sought  the  lack  of  it  as  a  stimu- 
lant to  jaded  sensuality. 

"Allah!  the  old  stale  stories,"  yawned  Gul-anari  from 
the  broad  sheet  of  native  newspaper  w^hence,  between  the 
intervals  of  some  of  Prince  Abool-Bukr's  worst  songs, 
she  had  been  reading  extracts  to  her  illiterate  clients; 
that  being  a  recognized  attraction  in  her  trade.  "  Per- 
sia! Persia!  nothing  but  Persia!  Who  cares  for  it?  I 
dare  swear  none.  Not  even  the  woman  Zeenut  herself, 
for  all  her  pretense  of  sympathy  with  Sheeahs,  who " 

"Have  a  care,  mistress!"  interrupted  an  arrogant 
looking  man,  who  showed  the  peaked  Afghan  cap  below 
a  regimental  turban.  ■  He  was  a  sergeant  in  a  Pathan 
company  of  the  native  troops  cantoned  outside  Delhi 
on  the  Ridge,  and  had  been  bickering  all  the  afternoon 
with  a  Rajpoot  of  the  38th  N.  I.,  who  had  ousted  him  in 
his  hostess'  easy  affections,  being  therefore  in  an  evil 


/yV    THE    CITY.  1 09 

temper,  ready  to  take  offense  at  a  word.  "  I  am  of  the 
north — a  Sheeah  myself,  and  care  not  to  hear  them  mis- 
called. And  I  have  those  who  would  back  me,"  he  con- 
tinued, glaring  at  the  Rajpoot,  who  sat  in  the  place  of 
honor  beside  the  stout  siren;  "for  yonder  in  the  cor- 
ner is  another  hill-tiger."  He  pointed  to  a  man  who  had 
just  thanked  one  of  the  girls  in  Pushtoo  for  a  glass  of 
sherbet  she  handed  him. 

"  Hill-cat,  rather!  "  giggled  Gul-anari.  "  He  brought 
me  this  one,  but  yesterday,  from  a  caravan  new-come  to 
the  serai," — she  stroked  the  long  fur  of  a  Persian 
kitten  on  her  lap, — "  and  when  I  asked  for  news  could 
not  give  them.  He  scarce  knew  enough  Urdu  for  the 
settling  of  prices." 

A  coarse  joke  from  the  Rajpoot,  suggesting  that  he 
had  found  few  difficulties  of  that  sort  in  the  Thunbi 
Bazaar,  made  the  sergeant  scowl  still  more  and  swear 
that  he  would  get  Mistress  Gul-anari  the  news  for  mere 
love.  Whereat  he  called  over,  in  Pushtoo,  to  the  man 
in  the  corner,  who,  however,  took  no  notice. 

"  He  is  as  deaf  as  a  lizard!  "  giggled  Gul-anari,  enjoy- 
ing the  rejected  one's  discomfiture.  "  Get  my  friend 
the  corporal  here  to  yell  at  him  for  thee,  sergeant.  His 
voice  goes  further  than  thine!  " 

The  favored  Rajpoot  squeezed  the  fat  hand  nearest  to 
him.  "  Go  up  and  pluck  him  by  the  beard,"  he  sug- 
gested vaingloriously,  "  then  we  might  see  a  Pathan 
fight  for  once." 

"  Thou  wouldst  see  a  fair  one,  which  is  more  than  thou 
canst  among  thine  own  people." 

"  Peace!  Peace!  "  cried  the  courtesan,  smiling  to 
see  both  men  look  round  for  a  weapon.  "  Fll  have  no 
bloodshed  here.  Keep  that  for  the  future."  She  dwelt 
on  ttie  last  word  meaningly,  and  it  seemed  to  have  a 
soothing  effect,  for  the  sepoys  contented  themselves 
with  scowls  again. 

"The  future?"  echoed  a  graybeard  who  had  been 
drinking  cinnamon  tea  calmly.  "  God  knows  there  will 
be  wars  enough  in  it.  Didst  hear,  Mccan  sahib?  I 
have  it  on  authority — that  Jarn  Larnce  is  to  give  Pesha- 


no  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

wiir  to  Dost  Mohammed  and  take  Rajpootana  instead. 
Take  it  as  Oude  was  taken  and  Sambalpore,  and  Jhansi, 
and  all  the  others." 

"  Even  so,"  assented  a  quiet  looking  man  in  spec- 
tacles. "  When  the  last  LoZ-sahib  went,  he  got  much 
praise  for  having  taken  five  kingdoms  and  given  them  to 
the  Queen.  Tue  new  one  was  told  he  must  give  more. 
This  begins  it." 

"  Let  us  see  what  we  Rajpoots  say  first,"  cried  the 
corporal  fiercely.  "  'Tis  we  have  fought  the  Sirhars 
battles,  and  we  are  not  sheep  to  be  driven  against  our 
own." 

Gul-anari  leered  admiringly  at  her  new  lover.  "  Nay! 
the  Rajpoots  are  men!  and  'twas  his  regiment,  my  mas- 
ters, who  refused  to  fight  over  the  sea,  saying  it  was  not 
in  the  bond.     Ay!  and  gained  their  point." 

"  That  drop  has  gone  over  the  sea  itself,"  sneered  a 
third  soldier.  ''  The  bond  is  altered  now.  Go  we  must, 
or  be  dismissed.  The  Thakoor-yVr  would  not  be  so  bold 
now,  I  warrant." 

The  Rajpoot  twirled  his  mustache  to  his  very  eyes 
and  cocked  his  turban  awry. 

"  Ay,  would  I !  and  more,  if  they  dare  touch  our 
privilege." 

Gul-anari  leered  again,  rousing  the  Pathan  sergeant  to 
mutter  curses,  and — as  if  to  change  the  subject — cross 
over  to  the  man  in  the  corner,  lay  insolent  hands  on  his 
shoulder,  and  shout  a  question  in  his  ear.  The  man 
turned,  met  the  arrogant  eyes  bent  on  him  calmly,  and 
with  both  hands  salaamed  profusely  but  slowly  with  a 
sort  of  measured  rhythm.  Apparently  he  had  not 
caught  the  words  and  was  deprecating  impatience.  His 
hands  were  fine  hands,  slender,  well-shaped,  and  he 
wore  a  metal  ring  on  the  seal-finger.  It  caught  the  light 
as  he  salaamed. 

"Louder,  man,  louder!"  gibed  the  corporal.  But 
the  sergeant  did  not  repeat  the  question;  he  stood  look- 
ing at  the  upturned  face  awaiting  an  answer. 

"  Maybe  he  is  Belooch,  his  speech  not  mine,"  he  said 
suddenly,  yet  with  a  strange  lack  of  curiosity  in  his  tone. 
There  was  a  faint  quiver,  as  if  some  strain  were  over  in 


IN    THE   CITY,  III 

the  face  below,  and  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  rapid 
sentence. 

"  Yea!  Belooch!  "'  he  went  on  in  a  still  more  satisfied 
tone,  "  I  know  it  by  the  twang.  So  there  is  small  use  in 
bursting  my  lungs." 

Here  Prince  Abool-Bukr,  who  had  been  dozing 
tipsily,  his  head  against  his  fiddle,  woke,  and  caught  the 
last  words.  "  Ay,  burst!  burst  like  the  royal  kettle-drums 
of  mine  ancestors.  Yet  will  I  do  my  poor  best  to  amuse 
the  company  and — and  instruct  them  in  virtue." 
W' hereupon,  with  much  maudlin  emotion,  he  thrummed 
and  thrilled  through  a  lament  on  the  fallen  fortunes  of 
the  Moghuls  written  by  that  King  of  Poets  his  Grand- 
papa. Being  diffuse  and  didactic,  it  w^as  met  with 
acclamations,  and  Abool,  being  beyond  the  stage  of 
discrimination,  was  going  on  to  give  an  encore  of  a 
very  different  nature,  when  a  wild  clashing  of  cymbals 
and  hooting  of  conches  in  the  bazaar  below  sent  every- 
one to  the  balcony.  Everyone  save  Abool,  who,  de- 
priA^ed  of  his  audience,  dozed  off  against  his  fiddle  again, 
and  the  man  from  the  corner  w'ho,  as  he  took  advantage 
of  the  diversion  to  escape,  looked  down  at  the  hand- 
some drunken  face  as  he  passed  it  and  muttered,  "  Poor 
devil!  He  rode  honest  enough  always."  Then  the 
Rajpoot's  arrogant  voice  rising  from  the  crush  on  the 
balcony,  he  paused  a  second  in  order  to  listen — that 
being  his  trade. 

"  'Tis  the  holy  Hindu  widow  to  whom  God  sent  fire 
on  her  way  to  the  festival.  A  saint  indeed!  I  know 
her  brother,  one  vSoma,  a  Yadubansi  Rajpoot  in  the  nth, 
new-come  to  Meerut." 

The  clashings  and  brayings  were  luckily  loud  enough 
to  hide  an  irrepressible  exclamation  from  the  man  be- 
hind. The  next  instant  he  was  halfway  down  the  dark 
stairs,  tearing  off  cap,  turban,  beard,  and  pausing  at  the 
darkest  corner  to  roll  his  baggy  northern  drawers  out 
of  sight,  and  turn  his  woolen  green  shawl  inside  out,  thus 
disclosing  a  cotton  lining  of  ascetic  ochre  tint.  It  was 
the  work  of  a  second,  for  Jim  Douglas  had  been  an  apt 
pupil.  So,  with  a  smear  of  ashes  from  one  pocket,  a 
dab  of  turmeric  and  vermilion  from  another — put  on  as 


112  OiV   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

he  finished  the  stairs — he  emerged  into  the  street  dis- 
guised as  a  mendicant;  the  refuge  of  fools,  as  Tiddu  had 
called  it.  The  easiest,  however,  to  assume  at  an  instant's 
notice;  and  in  this  case  the  best  for  the  procession 
Jim  Douglas  meant  to  join.  Careless  and  hurried 
though  his  get-up  was,  he  set  the  very  thought  of  de- 
tection from  him  as  he  edged  his  way  among  the  stream- 
ing crowd.  For  in  that,  so  he  told  himself,  lay  the 
jNiysterious  Gift.  To  be,  even  in  your  inmost  thoughts, 
the  personality  you  assumed  was  the  secret.  Somehow 
or  another  it  impressed  those  around  you,  and  even  if  a 
challenge  came  there  was  no  danger  if  the  challenger 
could  be  isolated — brought  close,  as  it  were,  to  your  own 
certainty.  To  this,  so  it  seemed  to  him — the  many- 
faced  one  vehemently  protesting — came  all  Tiddu's 
mysterious  instructions,  which  nevertheless  he  followed 
religiously.  For,  be  they  what  they  might,  they  had 
never  failed  him  durino-  the  six  months,  save  once,  when, 
watching  a  horse-race,  he  had  lost  or  rather  recovered 
himself  in  the  keen  interest  it  awakened.  Then  his 
neighbors  had  edged  from  him  and  stared,  and  he  had 
been  forced  into  slipping  away  and  changing  his  person- 
ality; for  it  was  one  of  Tiddu's  maxims  that  you  should 
always  carry  that  with  you  which  made  such  change 
possible.  To  be  many-faced,  he  said,  made  all  faces 
more  secure  by  taking  from  any  the  right  of  perma- 
nence. Jim  Douglas  therefore  joined  the  procession 
and  forced  his  way  to  the  very  front  of  it,  where  the  red- 
splashed  figure  of  Durga  Devi  was  being  carried  shoul- 
ders high.  It  was  garlanded  with  flowers  and  censed 
by  swinging  censers,  and  behind  it  with  widespread 
arms  to  show  her  sacred  scars  walked  Tara.  She  was 
naked  to  the  waist,  and  the  scanty  ochre-tinted  cloth 
folded  about  her  middle  was  raised  so  as  to  show  the 
scars  upon  her  lower  limbs.  The  sunlight  gleaming  on 
the  magnificent  bronze  curves  showed  a  seam  or  two 
upon  her  breast  also.  No  more.  As  Abool-Bukr  had 
prophesied,  her  face,  full  of  wild  spiritual  exaltation, 
was  unmarred  and,  with  the  shaven  head,  stood  out  bold 
and  clear  as  a  cameo. 

Jail    Jail    Durga    mai   kc   jai    (Victory    to    Mother 
Durga). 


IN   THE   CITY.  113 

The  cry  came  incessantly  from  her  lips,  and  was 
echoed  not  only  by  the  procession,  but  by  the  spectators. 
So  from  many  a  fierce  throat  besides  the  corporal's,  who 
from  Gul-anari's  balcony  shouted  it  frantically,  that 
appeal  to  the  Great  Death  Alother — implacable,  athirst 
for  blood — came  to  light  the  sordid  life  of  the  bazaar 
with  a  savage  fire  for  something  unknown — horribly 
unknown,  that  lay  beyond  life.  Even  the  jNIoham- 
medans,  though  they  spat  in  the  gutter  at  the  idol,  felt 
their  hearts  stir;  felt  that  if  miracles  were  indeed  abroad 
their  God,  the  only  true  One,  would  not  shorten  His 
Hand  either. 

Jail     Jail     Diirga  mai  kc  jai. 

The  cry  met  with  a  sudden  increase  of  volume  as,  the 
procession  passing  into  the  wider  space  before  the  big 
mosque,  it  was  joined  by  a  band  of  widows,  who  in  rap- 
turous adoration  flung  themselves  before  Tara's  feet  so 
that  she  might  walk  over  them  if  need  be,  yet  somehow 
touch  them. 

"  Pigs  of  idolators!  "  muttered  one  of  a  group  stand- 
ing on  the  mosque  steps;  a  group  of  men  unmistakable 
in  their  flowing  robes  and  beards. 

"Peace,  /var/-sahib !  "  came  a  mellow  voice.  "Let 
God  judge  when  the  work  is  done.  '  The  clay  is  base, 
and  the  potter  mean,  yet  the  pot  helps  man  to  wash  and 
be  clean.'  " 

The  speaker,  a  tall,  gaunt  man,  rose  a  full  head  above 
the  others,  and  Jim  Douglas'  keen  eyes,  taking  in  every- 
thing as  they  passed,  recognized  him  instantly.  It  was 
the  Moulvie  of  Fyzabad.  It  was  partly  to  hear  what  he 
had  to  say  when  he  was  preaching,  partly  to  find  out 
how  the  people  viewed  the  question  of  the  heirship,  which 
had  brought  Jim  Douglas  to  Delhi,  so  he  was  not  sur- 
prised. 

And  now  the  procession,  reaching  the  Dareeba,  that 
narrowest  of  lanes  hedged  by  high  houses,  received  a 
momentary  check.  For  down  it,  preceded  by  grooms 
with  waving  yak  tails,  came  the  Resident's  buggy.  He 
was  taking  a  lady  to  see  the  picturesque  sights  of  the 
city.  This  was  one,  with  a  vengeance,  as  the  red- 
splashed  figure  of  the  Death-Goddess  jammed  itself  in  the 


114  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

gutter  to  let  the  aliens  pass,  so  getting  mixed  up  with  a 
Mohammedan  sign-board.  And  the  crowd  following 
it, — an  ignorant  crowd  agape  for  wonders, — stood  for  a 
minute,  hemmed  in,  as  it  were,  between  the  buggy  in 
front  and  the  mosque  behind,  with  that  group  of  Moul- 
vies  on  its  steps. 

"  Fire  worship  for  a  hundred  years, 
A  century  of  Christ  and  tears, 
Then  the  True  God  shall  come  again 
And  every  infidel  be  slain," 

quoted  he  of  Fyzabad  under  his  breath,  and  the  others 
nodded.  They  knew  the  prophecy  of  Shah  N'amut- 
Oolah  well.  It  was  being  bandied  from  mouth  to  mouth 
in  those  days;  for  the  Mohammedan  crowd  was  also 
agape  for  wonders. 


CHAPTER    III. 

ON    THE    RIDGE. 

"A  MELLY  Klistmus  to  ZOO,  Mififis  Erlton!  An'  oh! 
they's  suts  a  lot  of  boo'ful,  boo'ful  sings  in  a  velanda." 

Sonny's  liquid  lisp  said  true.  On  this  Christmas 
morning  the  veranda  of  Major  Erlton's  house  on  the 
Ridge  of  Delhi  was  full  of  beauties  to  childish  eyes. 
For,  he  being  on  special  duty  regarding  a  scheme  for 
cavalry  remounts  and  having  Delhi  for  his  winter  head- 
quarters, there  were  plenty  of  contractors,  agents, 
troopers,  dealers,  what  not,  to  be  remembered  by  one 
who  might  probably  have  a  voice  in  much  future  patron- 
age. So  there  were  trays  on  trays  of  oranges  and  apples, 
pistachios,  almonds,  raisins,  round  boxes  of  Cabul 
grapes,  all  decked  with  flowers.  And  on  most  of  them, 
as  the  surest  bid  for  recognition,  lay  a  trumpery  toy  of 
some  sort  for  the  Major  sahib's  little  unknown  son,  whose 
existence  could,  nevertheless,  not  be  ignored  by  these 
gift-bringers,  to  whom  children  are  the  greatest  gift  of 
all. 

And  so,  as  they  waited,  with  a  certain  child-like  com- 


ON   THE  RIDGE.  US 

placency  in  their  own  offerings,  for  the  recipients'  tardy 
appearance,  they  had  smiled  on  Httle  Sonny  Seymour  as 
he  passed  them  on  his  way  to  give  greeting  to  his  dearest 
Mrs.  Erhon.  For  the  Seymours  had  had  the  expected 
change  to  Delhi,  and  Sonny's  mother  was  now  com- 
plaining of  the  climate,  and  the  servants,  and  the  babies, 
in  one  of  the  houses  within  the  Cashmere  gate  of  the 
city;  a  fact  which  took  from  her  the  grievance  regarding 
dog-carts,  since  it  lay  within  a  walk  of  her  husband's 
office. 

So  some  of  the  smiles  had  not  simply  been  given  to  a 
child,  but  to  a  child  whose  father  was  a  sahib  known  to 
the  smiler;  and  one  broad  grin  had  come  because  Sonny 
had  paused  to  say,  with  the  quaint  precision  with  which 
all  English  children  speak  Hindustani. 

"  Ail  Bij  Rao!  tu  kyon  aie?  "  (Oh,  Bij  Rao,  why 
are  you  here?)  The  orderly's  face,  which  Mrs.  Sey- 
mour had  said  gave  her  the  shivers,  had  beamed  over  the 
recognition ;  he  had  risen  and  saluted,  explaining  gravely 
to  the  chota  sahib  that  he  came  from  Meerut,  because  the 
Major  sahib  was  now  his  sahib  for  the  time.  Sonny  had 
nodded  gravely  as  if  he  understood  the  position  per- 
fectly, and  passed  on  to  the  drawing  room,  where  Kate 
Erlton  was  sticking  a  few  sprigs  of  holly  and  mistletoe 
round  the  portrait  of  another  fair-haired  boy;  these  same 
sprigs  being  themselves  a  Christnlas  offering  from  the 
Parsee  merchant,  who  had  a  branch  establishment  at  a 
hill  station.  He  sent  for  them  from  the  snows  every 
year  for  his  customers  as  a  delicate  attention.  And  this 
year  something  still  more  reminiscent  of  home  had 
come  with  them :  a  real  spruce  fir  for  the  Christmas  tree 
which  Kate  Erlton  was  organizing  for  the  school  chil- 
dren. The  tree  in  itself  was  new  to  India,  and  she  had 
suggested  a  still  greater  innovation;  namely,  that  all 
children  of  parents  employed  in  Government  offices  or 
workshops  should  be  invited,  not  only  those  with  pre- 
tensions to  white  faces.  For  Kate,  being  herself  far 
happier  and  more  contented  than  she  had  been  nine 
months  before,  when  she  begged  that  last  chance  from 
Jim  Douglas,  had  begun  to  look  out  from  her  own 
life  into  the  world  around  her  with  greater  interest.     In 


Il6  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

a  way,  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  chance  had  come.  Not 
tragically,  as  Jim  Douglas  had  hinted,  but  easily,  natu- 
rally, in  this  special  duty  which  had  removed  her 
husband  both  from  Alice  Gissing  and  his  own  past 
reputation. 

It  had  sent  him  to  Simla,  where  people  are  accepted 
for  what  they  are;  and  here  his  good  looks,  his  good- 
natured,  devil-may-care  desire  for  amusement  had  made 
him  a  favorite  in  society,  and  his  undoubted  knowledge 
of  cavalry  requirements  stood  him  in  good  stead  with 
the  authorities.  So  he  had  come  down  for  the  winter 
to  Delhi  on  a  new  track  altogether.  To  begin  with,  his 
work  interested  him  and  made  him  lead  a  more  whole- 
some life.  It  took  him  away  from  home  pretty  often,  so 
lessening  friction;  for  it  was  pleasant  to  return  to  a  well- 
ordered  house  after  roughing  it  in  out-stations.  Then 
it  took  him  into  the  wilds  where  there  was  no  betting  or 
card-playing.  He  shot  deer  and  duck  instead,  and 
talked  of  caps  and  charges,  instead  of  colors  and  tricks. 
To  his  vast  improvement;  for  though  the  slaying  in- 
stinct may  not  be  admirable  in  itself,  and  though  the 
hunter  may  rightly  have  been  branded  from  the  begin- 
ning with  the  mark  of  Cain,  still  the  shooter  or  fisher 
generally  lives  straighter  than  his  fellows,  and  murder 
is  not  the  most  heinous  of  crimes.  Not  even  in  regard 
to  the  safety  and  welfare  of  the  community. 

So  Kate  had  begun  to  have  those  pangs  of  remorse 
which  come  to  women  of  her  sort  at  the  first  symptom 
of  regeneration  in  a  sinner.  Pangs  of  pitiful  considera- 
tion for  the  big,  handsome  fellow  who  could  behave  so 
nicely  when  he  chose,  vague  questionings  as  to  whether 
the  past  had  not  been  partly  her  fault;  whether  if  this 
were  the  chance,  she  ought  not  to  forget  and  forgive — 
many  things. 

He  looked  very  handsome  as  he  lounged  in,  dressed 
spick  and  span  in  full  uniform  for  church  parade.  And 
she,  poised  on  a  chair,  her  dainty  ankles  showing,  looked 
spick  and  span  also  in  a  pretty  new  dress.  He  noticed 
the  fact  instantly. 

"A  merry  Christmas,  Kate!  Here!  give  me  your 
hand  and  I'll  help  you  down," 


ON   THE  RIDGE.  "7 

How  many  years  was  it  since  he  had  spoken  like  that, 
with  a  gUnt  in  his  eyes,  and  she  had  had  that  faint  flush 
in  her  cheek  at  his  touch?  The  consciousness  of  this 
stirring-  among  the  dry  bones  of  something  they  had 
both  deemed  dead,  made  her  set  to  shaking  some  leaves 
from  her  dress,  while  he,  with  an  irrelevantly  boisterous 
laugh,  stooped  to  swing  Sonny  to  his  shoulder.  "  You 
here,  jackanapes!"  he  cried.  "A  merry  Christmas! 
Come  and  get  a  sweetie — you  come  too,  Kate,  the  beg- 
gars will  like  to  see  the  uicm.  By  Jove!  what  a  jolly 
morning!  " 

A  foretaste  of  the  winter  rains  had  fallen  during  the 
night,  leaving  a  crisp  new-washed  feeling  in  the  air,  a 
heavy  rime-like  dew  on  the  earth;  the  sky  of  a  pale  blue, 
yet  colorful,  vaulted  the  wide  expanse  cloudlessly.  And 
from  the  veranda  of  the  Erltons'  house  the  expanse  was 
wide  indeed;  for  it  stood  on  the  summit  of  the  Ridge  at 
its  extreme  northern  end — the  end,  therefore,  furthest 
from  the  city,  which,  nearly  three  miles  away,  blocked 
the  widening  wedge  of  densely  wooded  lowland  lying 
between  the  rocky  range  and  the  river.  The  Ridge  itself 
was  not  unlike  some  huge  spiny  saurian,  basking  in  the 
sunlight;  its  tail  in  the  river,  its  wider,  flatter  head, 
crowned  by  Hindoo  Rao's  house,  resting  on  the  groves 
and  gardens  of  the  Subz-mundi  or  Green  INIarket,  a 
suburb  to  the  west  of  the  town.  It  is  a  quaint,  fanciful 
spot,  this  I>elhi  Ridge,  even  without  the  history  of  hero- 
ism crystallized  into  its  very  dust.  A  red  dust  which 
might  almost  have  been  stained  by  blood.  A  dust  which 
matches  that  history,  since  it  is  formed  of  isolated 
atoms  of  rock,  glittering,  perfect  in  themselves,  like  the 
isolated  deeds  which  went  to  make  up  the  finest  record 
of  pluck  and  perseverance  the  world  is  ever  likely  to 
see.  Perseverance  and  pluck  which  sent  more  English- 
men to  die  cheerfully  in  that  red  dust  than  in  the  de- 
fenses and  reliefs  of  Lucknow,  Cawnpore,  and  the 
subsequent  campaigns  all  combined.  Let  the  verdict 
on  the  wisdom  of  those  months  of  stolid  endurance  be 
what  it  may,  that  fact  remains.  , 

And  the  quaintness  of  the  Ridge  lies  in  its  individuality. 
Not  eighty  feet  above  the  river,  its  gradients  so  slight 


Il8  OAT    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

that  a  driver  scarce  slackens  speed  at  its  steepest,  there 
is  never  a  mistake  possible  as  to  where  it  begins  or  ends. 
Here  is  the  river  bed,  founded  on  sand;  there,  cleaving 
the  green  with  rough  red  shoulder,  is  the  ridge  of  rock. 

From  the  veranda,  then,  its  stony  spine  split  by  a  road 
like  a  parting,  it  trended  southwest,  so  giving  room  be- 
tween it  and  the  river  for  the  rose-lit,  lilac-shaded  mass 
of  the  town,  with  the  big  white  bubble  of  the  Jumma 
mosque  in  its  midst;  the  delicate  domes  fringing  the 
palace  gateways  showing  like  strings  of  pearls  on  the 
blue  sky.  And  beyond  them,  a  dazzle  of  gold  among 
the  green  of  the  Garden  of  Grapes,  marked  that  last 
sanctuary  of  a  dead  dynasty  upon  the  city's  eastern  wall. 

The  cantonments  lay  to  the  back  of  the  house  on  the 
western  slope  of  the  Ridge  and  on  the  plain  beyond. 
This  also  was  a  widening  wedge  of  green  wooded  land 
cut  off  from  the  rest  of  the  plain  by  a  tree-set  overflow 
canal.  The  Ridge,  therefore,  formed  the  backbone  of  a 
triangle  protected  by  water  on  two  sides.  On  the  third 
was  the  city  and  its  suburbs.  But — to  carry  out  the 
image  of  the  lizard — a  natural  outwork  lay  like  a  huge 
paw  on  either  side  of  the  head ;  on  the  river  side  the  spur 
of  Ludlow  Castle,  on  the  canal  side  the  General's  mound. 

A  brisk  breeze  was  fluttering  the  flag  on  the  tower 
cresting  the  ridge,  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the  house, 
and  as  Major  Erlton  stepped  into  the  veranda,  a  pufT  of 
white  smoke  curled  cityward,  and  the  roll  of  the  time- 
gun  reverberated  among  the  rocks. 

"  By  Jingo!  I  must  hurry  up  if  I'm  to  have  break- 
fast before  church,"  he  exclaimed,  as  the  circle  of  gift- 
bringers,  who  had  been  waiting  nearly  half  an  hour, 
rose  simultaneously  with  salaams  and  good  wishes.  The 
sudden  action  made  a  white  cockatoo  perched  in  the 
corner  raise  its  flame-colored  crest  and  begin  to  prance. 

"Naughty  Poll!  Bad  Poll!"  came  Sonny's  mellif- 
luous lisp  from  the  Major's  shoulder.  "  Zoo  mufn't 
make  a  noise  and  interrupt." 

The  admonition  made  the  bird  smooth  its  rufifled 
temper  and  feathers.  Not  that  there  was  much  to  inter- 
rupt; the  Major's  halting  acknowledgments  being  of  the 


OiV    THE  RIDGE.  119 

briefest;  partly  because  of  breakfast,  partly  from  lack  of 
Hindustani,  mostly  from  the  inherent  insular  horror  of 
a  function. 

"Thank  God!  that's  over,"  he  said  piously,  when  the 
last  tray  had  been  emptied  on  the  miscellaneous  pile, 
round  which  the  servants  were  already  hovering  expect- 
antly, and  the  last  well-wisher  had  disappeared.  "  Still 
it  was  nice  of  them  to  remember  Freddy,"  he  added, 
looking  at  the  toys — "  Wasn't  it,  wife?  " 

She  looked  up  almost  scared  at  the  title.  "  Very,"  she 
replied,  with  a  faint  quiver  in  her  voice.  "  We  must 
send  some  home  to  him,  mustn't  we?  " 

The  pronoun  of  union  made  the  Major,  in  his  turn, 
feel  embarrassed.  He  sought  refuge  once  more  in 
Sonny. 

"  You  must  have  your  choice  first,  jackanapes!  "  he 
said,  swinging  the  child  to  the  ground  again.  "  Which 
is  it  to  be?     A  box  of  soldiers  or  a  monkey  on  a  stick?  " 

"Fanks!"  replied  Sonny  with  honest  dignity,  "but 
Fse  gotted  my  plesy  already.  She's  give-ded  me  the 
polly — be-tos  it  'oves  me  dearly." 

Kate  answered  her  husband's  look  with  a  half- 
apology.  "  He  means  the  cockatoo.  I  thought  you 
wouldn't  mind,  because  it  was  so  dreadfully  noisy.  And 
it  never  screams  at  him.  Sonny!  give  Polly  an  apple 
and  show  Major  Erlton  how  it  loves  you." 

The  child,  nothing  loth  to  show  off,  chose  one  from 
the  heap  and  went  over  fearlessly  to  the  vicious  bird; 
the  servants  pausing  to  look  admiringly.  The  cockatoo 
seized  it  eagerly,  but  only  as  a  means  to  draw  the  little 
fellow's  arm  within  reach  of  its  clambering  feet.  The 
next  moment  it  was  on  the  narrow  shoulder  dipping  and 
sidling  among  the  golden  curls. 

"  See  how  it  'eves  me,"  cried  Sonny,  his  face  all 
smiles. 

Major  Erlton  laughed  good-temperedly  at  the  pretty 
sight  and  went  in  to  breakfast. 

Then  the  dog-cart  came  round.  It  was  the  same  one 
in  which  the  !\Iajor  had  been  used  to  drive  Alice  Giss- 
ing.     But  this  Christmas  morning  he  had  forgotten  the 


I20  OAT    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

fact,  as  he  drove  Kate  instead,  with  Sonny,  who  was  to 
be  taken  to  church  as  a  great  treat,  crushing  the  flounces 
of  her  pretty  dress. 

Yet  the  fresh  wind  blew  in  their  faces  keenly,  and  the 
Major,  pointing  with  his  whip  to  the  scudding  squirrels, 
said,  "  Jolly  little  beasts,  aren't  they,  Kate,"  just  as  he 
had  said  it  to  Alice  Gissing.  What  is  more,  she  replied 
that  it  was  jolly  altogether,  with  much  the  same  enjoy- 
ment of  the  mere  present  as  the  other  little  lady  had 
done.  For  the  larger  part  of  life  is  normal,  common  to 
all.^ 

So  they  sped  past  the  rocks  and  trees  swiftly,  down 
and  down,  till  with  a  rumble  they  were  on  the  draw- 
bridge, through  the  massive  arch  of  the  Cashmere  gate, 
into  the  square  of  the  main-guard.  The  last  clang  of 
the  church  bell  seemed  to  come  from  the  trees  overhang- 
ing it,  and  in  the  ensuing  silence  a  sharp  click  of  the 
whip  sounded  like  a  pistol  crack.  The  mare  sped  faster 
through  the  wooden  gate  into  the  open.  To  the  left  the 
Court  House  showed  among  tall  trees,  to  the  right  Skin- 
ner's House.  vStraight  ahead,  down  the  road  to  the  Cal- 
cutta gate  and  the  boat  bridge,  stood  the  College,  the 
telegraph  office,  a  dozen  or  so  of  bungalows  in  gardens, 
and  the  magazine  shouldering  the  old  cemetery.  Quite 
a  colony  of  Western  ways  and  works  within  the  city  wall, 
clinging  to  it  between  the  water-bastion  and  the  Calcutta 
gate. 

Close  at  hand  in  a  central  plot  of  garden,  circled  by 
roads,  was  the  church,  built  after  the  design  of  St. 
Paul's;  obtrusively  Occidental,  crowned  by  a  very  large 
cross. 

As  the  mare  drew  up  among  the  other  carriages,  the 
first  notes  of  the  Christmas  hymn  pealed  out  among  the 
roses  and  the  pointsettias,  the  glare  and  the  green.  Not 
a  Christmas  environment;  but  the  festival  brings  its  own 
atmosphere  with  it  to  most  people,  and  ]\Iajor  Erlton, 
admiring  his  wife's  rapt  face,  remembered  his  own  boy- 
hood as  he  sang  a  rumbling  Gregorian  bass  of  two  tones 
and  a  semi-tone: 

"  Oh  come,  all  ye  faithful  !     Joyful  and  triumphant." 


O.V    THE  RIDGE.  12 1 

The  words  echoed  confidently  into  the  heart  of  the 
great  Mohammedan  stronghold,  within  earshot  almost 
of  the  rose-red  walls  of  the  palace;  that  survival  of  all 
the  vices  Christianity  seeks  to  destroy. 

"  They  have  a  new  service  to-night,"  yawned  the 
chaplain's  groom  to  others  grouped  round  a  common 
pipe.  "  I,  who  have  served  padres  all  my  life — the  pay  is 
bad  but  the  kicks  less — saw  never  the  like.  'Tis  a  queer 
tree  hung  with  lights,  and  toys  to  bribe  the  children  to 
worship  it.  They  wanted  mine  to  go,  but  their  mother 
is  pious  and  would  not.     She  says  'tis  a  spell." 

"Doubtless!"  assented  a  voice.  "The  spell  Kali's 
priest,  who  came  from  Calcutta  seeking  aid  against  it, 
warned  us  of — the  spell  which  forces  a  body  to  being 
Christian  against  his  will." 

A  scornful  cluck  came  from  a  younger,  smarter  man. 
"Trra!  a  trick  that  for  ofiferings,  Dittu.  The  priest 
came  to  me  also,  but  I  told  him  my  master  was  not  that 
sort.     He  goes  not  to  church  except  on  the  big  day." 

"But  the  man?''  asked  a  new  speaker  enviously. 
"  'Tis  the  mems  do  the  mischief  to  please  the  padres; 
just  as  our  women  do  it  to  please  the  priests.  Aly  mem 
reads  prayers  to  her  ayah." 

"  Paremeshwar  be  praised!"  ejaculated  the  man  to 
whom  the  pipe  belonged.  "  My  master  keeps  no  mem, 
but  the  other  sort.  Though  as  for  the  ayah  it  matters 
not,  she  has  no  caste  to  lose." 

There  was  a  grunt  of  general  assent.  The  remark 
crystallized  the  whole  question  to  unmistakable  form. 
So  long  as  a  man  could  get  a  pull  from  his  neighbor's 
pipe  and  have  a  right  to  one  in  return,  the  master  might 
say  and  do  what  he  chose.     If  not:  then ? 

An  evil-faced  man  who  still  smarted  from  a  righteous 
licking,  given  him  that  morning  for  stealing  his  horse's 
grain,  put  his  view  of  what  would  happen  in  that  case 
plainly. 

"  Bullah !  "  sneered  a  bearded  Sikh  orderly  waiting  to 
carry  his  master's  prayer-book.  "  You  Poorbeahs  can 
talk  glibly  of  change.  And  why  not?  seeing  it  is  but  a 
change  of  masters  to  born  slaves.  Oil  burns  to  butter! 
butter  to  oil!" 


122  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

The  evil  face  scowled.  "  Thou  wilt  have  to  shave 
under  thy  master,  anyhow,  Gooroo-jee!  Ay!  and  dock 
thy  pigtail  too." 

This  allusion  to  a  late  ruling  against  the  Nazarene  cus- 
toms of  the  newly  raised  Sikh  levies  might  have  led  to 
blows — the  bearded  one  being  a  born  fighter — if,  the 
short  service  coming  to  an  end,  the  masters  had  not 
trooped  out,  pausing  to  exchange  Christmas  greetings 
ere  they  dispersed. 

"  Never  saw  Mrs.  Erlton  looking  so  pretty,"  remarked 
Captain  Seymour  to  his  wife,  as,  with  the  restored  Sonny 
between  them,  they  moved  off  to  their  own  house,  which 
stood  close  by,  plumb  on  the  city  wall.  He  spoke  in  a 
low  voice,  but  Major  Erlton  happened  to  be  within  ear- 
shot. He  turned  complacently  to  identify  the  speaker, 
then  looked  at  his  wife  to  see  if  the  remark  was  true. 
Scarcely;  to  Herbert  Erlton's  quickened  recollection  of 
the  girl  he  had  married.  Yet  she  looked  distinctly 
creditable,  desirable,  as  she  stood,  the  center  of  a  little 
group  of  men  and  women  eager  to  help  her  with  the 
Christmas  tree.  It  struck  him  suddenly,  not  in  the  least 
unpleasantly,  that  of  late  his  wife  had  had  no  lack  of 
aids-de-camp,  and  that  one.  Captain  IMorecombe,  the 
pick  of  the  lot,  seemed  to  have  little  else  to  do.  A  symp- 
tom which  the  iNIajor  could  explain  from  his  own  ex- 
perience, and  which  made  him  smile;  he  being  of  those 
who  admire  women  for  being  admired. 

"  I  have  arranged  about  the  conjuror,  Mrs.  Erlton," 
said  Captain  Morecombe,  who  was,  indeed,  quite  ready 
to  do  her  behests;  "that  sweep,  Prince  Abool-bukr, — 
who  is  coming,  by  the  way,  to  see  the  show, — has  prom- 
ised me  the  best  in  the  bazaar.  And  some  Bunjarah 
fellows  who  act,  and  that  sort  of  business." 

"  Better  find  out  first  what  they  do  act,"  put  in  young 
Mainwaring,  who  chafed  under  the  superior  knowledge 
which  the  Captain  claimed  as  interpreter  to  the  Staff. 
"  I  saw  some  of  those  brutes  in  Lucknow  last  spring, 
and " 

"  Oh!  there  is  no  fear,"  retorted  the  other  with  a  con- 
descending smile.  "The  Prince  is  no  fool,  and  he  is 
responsible.     It  will  most  likely  be  something  extremely 


OJV    THE  RIDGE.  1 23 

instructive.  Now,  Mrs.  Erlton,  I  will  drive  you  round 
to  the  College  and  you  can  show  me  anything  else  you 
want  done.     I  can  drive  you  home  afterward." 

"  Don't  think  we  need  trouble  you,  thanks,  More- 
combe,"  said  a  voice  behind.  "  I'll  drive  my  wife.  I'll 
stay  as  long  as  you  like,  Kate;  and  I  can  stick  things 
high  up,  you  know." 

There  was  no  appeal  in  his  tone,  but  Kate,  looking  up 
at  his  great  height,  felt  one;  and  with  it  came  a  fresh 
spasm  of  that  self-reproach.  As  she  had  knelt  beside 
him  in  church  she  had  been  asking  herself  if  she  was 
not  unforgiving;  if  it  was  not  hard  on  him. 

"  That  will  be  a  great  help,"  she  said  soberly. 

So  Mrs.  Seymour,  coming  in  daintily  when  the  hard 
work  was  over  to  put  a  Father  Christmas  on  the  topmost 
shoot,  wondered  plaintively  how  she  could  have  man- 
aged it  without  Major  Erlton,  and  put  so  much  soft 
admiration  into  her  pretty  eyes,  that  he  could  scarcely 
fail  to  feel  a  fine  fellow.  He  was  in  consequence  a 
better  one  for  the  time  being.  So  that  he  insisted  on  re- 
turning in  the  afternoon  to  hand  the  tea  and  cake,  when 
he  made  several  black-and-tan  matrons  profusely  apolo- 
getic and  proud  at  having  the  finest  gentleman  there  to 
wait  upon  them.  For  the  Major  was  a  very  fine  animal, 
indeed.  As  Alice  Gissing  had  told  him  frankly,  over  and 
over  again,  his  looks  were  his  strong  point. 

The  larger  portion  of  the  guests  were  of  this  black- 
and-tan  complexion.  Of  varying  shades,  however,  from 
the  unmistakably  pure-blooded  native  Christian,  to  the 
pasty-faced  baby  with  all  the  yellow  tones  of  skin  due  to 
its  pretty,  languid  mother,  emphasized  by  the  ruddiness 
of  the  English  father  who  carried  it. 

They  came  chiefly  from  Dur}^agunj,  a  quarter  of  the 
city  close  to  the  Palace,  between  the  river  and  the  Thunbi 
Bazaar.  It  had  once  been  the  artillery  lines,  and  now 
its  pleasant  garden-set  houses  were  occupied  by  clerks, 
contractors,  overseers,  and  such  like.  Then  later  on, 
for  the  sports  and  games,  came  a  contingent  of  College 
lads,  speaking  English  fluently,  and  younger  boys 
clinging  afTrightedly  to  their  father's  hand  as  he  smirked 
and  bowed  to  the  special  master  for  whose  favor  he  had 


124  ON    THE   FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

perhaps  braved  bitter  tears  of  opposition  from  the 
women  at  home.  The  mission  school  sent  orderly 
bands,  and  there  was  a  ruck  of  servants'  children,  who 
would  have  gone  to  the  gates  of  hell  for  a  gift. 

"  You  will  tire  yourself  to  death,  Kate,"  called  her 
husband,  as,  quite  in  his  element,  he  handicapped  the 
boys  for  the  races.  He  spoke  in  a  half-satisfied,  half- 
dissatisfied  tone,  for  though  her  success  pleased  him,  he 
fancied  she  looked  less  dainty,  less  attractive. 

"  Come  and  see  the  play,"  suggested  Captain  More- 
combe,  who  did  not  seem  to  notice  anything  amiss.  "  It 
will  be  rest,  and  we  needn't  light  up  yet  a  while." 

"  I'm  going  wis  zoo,"  said  Sonny  confidently,  escap- 
ing from  his  ayah  as  they  passed;  so,  with  the  child's 
hand  in  hers,  Kate  went  on  into  the  long  narrow  veranda 
which  had  been  inclosed  by  tent-walls  as  a  theater. 
Open  to  the  sunlight  at  the  entrance,  it  was  dark  enough 
to  make  a  swinging  lamp  necessary  at  the  further  end. 
There  was  no  stage,  no  scenery,  only  a  coarse  cotton 
cloth  with  indistinguishable  shadows  and  lights  on  it 
hung  over  a  rope  at  the  very  end.  The  place  was  nearly 
empty.  A  few  native  lads  squatted  in  front,  a  bench  or 
two  held  a  sprinkling  of  half-castes,  and  at  the  entrance 
a  group  of  English  ladies  and  gentlemen  waited  for  the 
performance  to  begin,  laughing  and  talking  the  while. 

"  You  look  quite  done,"  said  Captain  Morecombe 
tenderly,  as  Kate  sank  back  in  the  armchair  he  placed 
for  her  halfway  down,  where  a  chink  of  light  and  air 
came  through  a  slit  in  the  canvas. 

"  I  didn't  feel  tired  before,"  she  replied  dreamily.  "  I 
suppose  it  is  the  quiet,  and  the  giving  in.  Tell  me  about 
the  play,  please,"  she  went  on  more  briskly.  "  If  I  don't 
know  something  of  the  plot  before  it  begins,  I  shall  not 
understand." 

"  I  expect  you  will,"  he  began;  but  at  that  moment  a 
cry  for  Captain  Morecombe  arose,  and  to  his  infinite 
anger  he  had  to  go  ofif  and  interpret  for  the  Colonel  and 
Prince  Abool-Bukr,  who  had  just  arrived.  Kate,  to  tell 
truth,  felt  relieved.  After  the  clamor  outside,  and  the 
constant  appeals  to  her,  the  peace  within  was  delightful. 
She  leaned  back,  with  Sonny  in  her  arms,  feeling  so  dis- 


ON-    THE  JUDGE.  I25 

posed  for  sleep  that  her  husband's  loud  voice  coming 
through  the  chink  startled  her. 

"  Can't  possibly  take  that  into  consideration.  The 
race  must  be  run  on  the  runners'  own  merits  only." 

He  was  only,  she  knew,  laying  down  the  law  of  handi- 
caps to  some  dissentient;  but  the  words  thrilled  her. 
Poor  Herbert!  What  had  his  merits  been?  And  then 
she  wondered  how  long  it  had  been  since  she  had 
thought  of  him  thus  by  his  Christian  name,  as  it  w'ere. 
Would  it  be  possible 

"  It's  a  story  of  Fate,  really,"  said  one  of  the  spec- 
tators at  the  entrance,  to  the  ladies  who  were  with  him; 
his  voice  clearly  audible  in  a  sudden  hush  which  had 
come  to  the  dim  veranda  that  grew  dimmer  and  dimmer 
to  the  end,  despite  the  swinging  lamp.  "  A  sort  of 
miracle  play,  called  '  The  Lord  of  Life,  and  the  Lord  of 
Death.'  Yama  and  Indra  of  course.  I  saw  it  two  days 
ago,  and  one  of  the  actors  is  the  best  pantomimist — 
That's  the  man — now." 

Kate  turned  her  eyes  instinctively  to  the  open  space 
which  was  to  do  duty  as  a  stage.  The  play  had  begun; 
must  have  been  going  on  wdiile  she  was  thinking,  for  a 
scene  was  in  full  swing.  A  scene?  A  misnomer  that, 
surely!  when  there  was  no  scenery,  nothing  but  that 
strange  dim  curtain  with  its  indefinite  lights  and 
shadows.  Or  was  there  some  meaning  in  the  dabs  and 
splashes  after  all?  Was  that  a  corn  merchant's  shop? 
Yes,  there  were  the  gleaming  pots,  the  cavernous 
shadows,  the  piled  baskets  of  flour  and  turmeric  and 
pulse,  the  odd  little  strings  of  dried  cocoanuts  and  pipe 
cups,  the  blocks  of  red  rock-salt.  And  that — she  gave 
an  odd  little  sigh  of  certainty — was  the  corn  merchant 
himself  selling  flour,  with  a  weighted  balance,  to  a  poor 
widow.  \Miat  magnificent  pantomime  it  was!  And 
what  a  relief  that  it  was  pantomime;  so  leaving  her 
no  whit  behind  anyone  in  comprehension;  but  the  equal 
of  all  the  world,  as  far  as  this  stor\'  was  concerned.  And 
it  was  unmistakable.  She  seemed  to  hear  the  chink  of 
money,  to  see  the. juggling  with  the  change,  the  substi- 
tution of  inferior  flour  for  that  chosen;  the  whole  give 
and  take  of  cheating:,  till  the  ill-gfotten  eain  was  clutched 


126  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

tight,  and  the  robbed  woman  turned  away  patiently, 
unconsciously. 

An  odd,  doubtful  murmur  rose  among  the  squatting 
boys,  checked  almost  as  it  began;  for  the  shadowy  cur- 
tain behind  wavered,  seemed  to  grow  dimmer,  to  curve 
in  cloud-like  festoons,  and  then  disclosed  a  sitting 
figure. 

There  was  a  burst  of  laughter  from  the  entrance. 
"  Rum  sort  of  God,  isn't  he?  "  came  the  voice  again. 
But  from  the  front  rose  an  uneasy  whisper.  "  Yama! 
Sri  Yama  himself;  look  at  his  nose!  " 

Viewed  without  reference  to  either  remark,  the  figure, 
if  quaint,  almost  ludicrous,  did  not  lack  dignity.  There 
was  impassiveness  in  the  pea-green  mask  below  the 
miter-like  gilt  tiara,  and  impressiveness  in  the  immova- 
bility of  the  pea-green  hands  folded  on  the  scarlet 
draperies. 

"  He  answers  to  Charou,  you  know,"  went  on  the 
voice  again.  "  I  suppose  it  means  that  the  hnni\a-jee 
will  need  all  his  ill-gotten  gain  to  pay  fare  to  Paradise." 

Did  it  mean  that?  Kate  wondered,  as  she  leaned 
back  clasping  Sonny  tighter  in  her  arms,  or  was  it  only 
to  show  that  Fate  lay  behind  the  daily  life  of  every  man. 
Then  what  a  farce  it  was  to  talk  of  chance!  Yet  she  had 
pleaded  for  it.  till  she  had  gained  it.  "  Let  him  have  his 
chance.  Let  us  all  have  our  chance.  You  and  I  into 
the  bargain.  You  and  I!"  What  made  her  think  of 
that  now? 

A  snigger  from  the  lads  in  front  roused  her  to  a  new- 
scene;  a  serio-comic  dispute,  evidently,  between  a  ter- 
magant of  a  mother-in-law  and  a  tearful  daughter.  Kate 
found  herself  following  it  closely  enough,  even  smiling 
at  it,  but  Sonny  shifted  restlessly  on  her  knee.  "  I  'ikes 
a  funny  man,"  he  said  plaintively.  "  Tell  a  funny  man 
to  come  again,  Alififis  Erlton." 

"  I  expect  he  will  come  soon,  dear,"  she  replied,  con- 
scious of  a  foolish  awe  behind  her  own  words.  Fate  lay 
there  also,  no  doubt. 

It  did.  but  as  the  termagant  triumphed  and  the  duti- 
ful  daughter-in-law   wept   over   her  baking,   the   figure 


ON    THE  RIDGE.  127 

that  showed  wore  a  white  mask,  the  rainbow-hued  gar- 
ments were  hung-  with  flowers,  and  the  white  hands 
held  a  parti-colored  bow. 

The  boys  nodded  and  smiled.  "  Sri  Indra  himself," 
they  said.     "  Look  at  his  bow!  " 

"Who  is  Indra,  Mr.  Jones?"  asked  a  feminine  voice 
from  behind. 

"  Lord  of  Paradise.  And  that  is  the  whole  show.  It 
goes  on  and  on.  Some  of  the  scenes  are  awfully  funny, 
but  they  wouldn't  act  the  funniest  ones  here.  And  they 
all  end  with  the  green  or  white  dummy;  so  it  gets  a  bit 
monotonous.  Shall  we  go  and  look  at  the  conjurors 
now?  " 

The  voices  departed;  once  more  to  Kate's  relief.  She 
felt  that  the  explanation  spoiled  the  play.  And  that  was 
no  dummy!  She  could  see  the  same  eyes  through  the 
mask;  curious,  steady,  indifterent  eyes.  The  eyes  of  a 
Fate  indifferent  as  to  what  mask  it  wore.  So  the  play 
went  on  and  on.  Some  of  the  Eurasians  slipped  away, 
but  the  boys  remained  ready  with  awe  or  rejoicing,  while 
Kate  sat  by  the  chink  through  which  the  light  came 
more  and  more  dimly  as  the  day  darkened.  She  scarcely 
noticed  the  actors;  she  waited  dreamily  for  the  Lord  of 
Life  or  the  Lord  of  Death;  for  there  was  never  any 
doubt  as  to  which  was  coming.  But  the  child  in  her 
lap  waited  indiscriminately  for  •  the  funny  man.  The 
thought  of  the  contrast  struck  her,  making  her  smile. 
Yet,  after  all,  the  difference  only  lay  in  the  way  you 
looked  at  life.  There  was  no  possibility  of  change  to  it ; 
the  Great  Handicap  was  run  on  its  own  merits.  And 
then,  like  an  unseen  hand  brushing  av/ay  the  cobwebs 
which  of  late  had  been  obscuring  the  unalterable  facts, 
like  a  wave  collapsing  her  house  of  sand,  came  the 
memory  of  words  which  at  the  time  they  were  spoken 
had  made  her  cry  out  on  their  cruelty.  "  What  possible 
right  have  you  or  I  to  suppose  that  anything  you  or  I  can 
do  now  will  alter  the  initial  fact?  "  If  he — that  stranger 
who  had  stepped  in  and  laid  rude  touch  on  her  very  soul, 
had  been  the  Lord  of  Life  or  Death  himself,  could  he  have 
been  more  remorseless?     And  what  possessed  her  that 


128  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

she  should  think  of  him  again  and  again;  that  she 
should  wonder  wliat  his  verdict  would  be  on  those  vague 
thoughts  of  compromise? 

"  Mrs.  Erlton !  Mrs.  Erlton,  everything  is  ready. 
Everybody  is  waiting!  I  have  been  hunting  for  you 
everywhere.  It  never  occurred  to  me  you  would  be  here 
after  all  this  time.  Why,  you  are  almost  alone!  "  Cap- 
tain Morecombe's  aggrieved  regret  was  scarcely  appeased 
by  her  hurried  excuse  that  she  believed  she  had  been  half- 
asleep.  For  the  Christmas  tree  was  lit  to  its  topmost 
branch,  the  guests  admitted,  the  drawings  begun. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  sudden  change  from  dark  to  light, 
silence  to  clamor,  which  gave  Kate  Erlton  the  dazed  look 
with  which  she  came  into  that  circle  of  radiant  faces 
where  Prince  Abool-Bukr  was  clapping  his  hands  like  a 
child  and  thinking,  as  he  generally  did  when  his  pleas- 
ures could  be  shared  by  virtue,  of  how  he  would  describe 
it  all  to  Newasi  Begum  on  her  roof.  He  drew  a  spotless 
white  lamb  as  his  gift;  Major  Erlton  its  fellow,  and  the 
two  men  compared  notes  in  sheer  laughter,  broken  Eng- 
lish, and  shattered  Plindustani.  And  through  the  fun 
and  the  pulling  of  crackers,  Kate,  who  recovered  herself 
rapidly,  flitted  here  and  there,  arranging,  deciding,  set- 
ting the  ball  a-rolling.  There  w'as  a  flush  on  her  cheek, 
a  light  in  her  eyes  which  forced  other  eyes  to  follow  her, 
even  among  the  packed,  prying  faces,  peeping  from  every 
door  and  window  at  the  strange  sight,  the  strange  spell. 
One  pair  of  eyes  in  particular,  belonging  to  a  slight, 
clean-shaven  man  standing  beside  two  others  who  carried 
bundles  in  their  hands,  and  who,  having  come  from  the 
inside  veranda,  had  found  space  to  slip  well  to  the  front. 
They  were  the  actors  in  the  now  forsaken  drama  of  Life 
and  Death.  One  of  them,  however,  had  evidently  seen  a 
Christmas  tree  before,  since  he  suddenl}^  called  out  in  the 
purest  English: 

"The  top  branch  on  the  left  has  caught!  Put  it  out, 
someone!  " 

The  sound  seemed  to  discomfit  him  utterly.  He 
looked  round  him  quickly,  then  realizing  that  the  crowd 
was  too  dense  for  the  voice  to  be  accurately  located  save 
by  his  immediate  neighbors,  gave  a  half  apologetic  sign 


0:V    THE  RIDGE.  I29 

to  the  older  of  his  two  companions  and  shpped  away. 
They  followed  obediently,  but  once  outside  Tiddu  shook 
his  head  at  his  pupil. 

"  The  Huzoor  will  never  remember  to  forget.  He  will 
get  into  trouble  some  day,"  he  said  reproachfully. 

"  Not  if  I  stick  to  playing  Yama  and  Indra,"  replied 
Jim  Douglas  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  '"  The  Mask 
of  Fate  is  apt  to  be  inscrutable."  He  made  the  remark 
chiefly  for  his  own  benefit;  for  he  was  thinking  of  the 
strange  chance  of  meeting  those  cold  blue-gray  eyes 
again  in  that  fashion.  Beautiful  eyes,  brilliant  eyes! 
Then  he  smiled  cynically.  The  chance  he  had  given  had 
evidently  borne  fruit.  She  seemed  quite  happy,  and 
there  was  no  mistaking  the  look  on  her  owner's  heavy 
face.  So  the  heroics  had  meant  nothing,  and  he  had 
given  up  his  chance  for  a  vulgar  kiss-and-make-it-up- 
again! 

It  was  too  dark  to  see  that  look  on  Major  Erlton's  face, 
but  it  was  there,  as,  carrying  Kate  off  with  a  certain  air 
of  proprietorship  from  the  compliments  which  had  grown 
stale,  they  went  to  find  the  dog-cart,  which,  in  deference 
to  the  mare's  nerves,  had  been  told  to  await  them  in  a 
quiet  corner  of  the  compound. 

''  You  did  it  splendidly,  Kate!  " 

His  voice  came  contentedly  through  the  soft  darkness 
which  hid  the  easy  arm  which  slipped  to  her  waist,  the 
easy  smiling  face  which  bent  to  kiss  hers. 

"Oh,  don't!  Please  don't!"  The  zr\\  almost  a  sob, 
was  unmistakable.  So  was  the  start  which  made  her 
stumble  over  an  unseen  edging  to  the  path.  Even  Her- 
bert Erlton  with  his  blunted  delicacy  could  not  misjudge 
it.  He  stood  silent  for  a  moment,  then  gave  a  short  hard 
laugh. 

"  You  haven't  hurt  yourself,  I  expect,"  he  said  dryly, 
"  so  there's  no  harm  done.  Til  call  that  fellow  with  the 
lantern  to  give  us  a  light." 

He  did,  and  the  vague  shadow  preceded  by  a  swinging 
light  turned  out  to  be  young  ]\Iainwaring  on  his  pony, 
with  the  groom  carrying  a  lantern. 

"  I\Irs.  Erlton."  cried  the  lad.  slipping  to  the  ground, 
"what  luck!     The  very  person  I  wanted.     I  was  going 


13°  ON    THE   FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

round  by  your  house  on  the  chance  of  catching  you,  as  it 
was  useless  trying  to  get  in  a  quiet  word  this  afternoon. 
I  want  to  ask  if  you  know  of  any  houses  to  let !  I  had  a 
letter  this  morning  from  Mrs.  Gissing  asking  me  to  look 
out  one  for  her." 

"  For  her?  "  The  echo  came  in  a  dull  voice.  Kate  had 
scarcely  recovered  from  her  own  recoil,  from  a  vague 
doubt  of  what  she  had  done. 

"  Yes!  Her  husband  had  to  go  home  on  business  and 
won't  be  out  till  May.  So,  as  the  new  people  at  Luck- 
now    seem    a   poor    lot,    and    she    has    old    friends    at 

Delhi "     A   remembrance   that    some   of   these    old 

friendships  must  be  an  unwelcome  memory  to  his  hearer 
made  the  boy  pause.  But  the  man,  smarting  with  resent- 
ment, had  no  such  scruples — what  was  the  use  of  them? 

"  Coming  here,  is  she?  "  he  echoed.  "  Then  we  piay 
hope  to  have  some  fun  in  this  deadly-lively  stuck-up 
place.  I  say,  Mainwaring,  would  you  mind  driving  my 
wife  home  and  lending  me  your  pony  to  gallop  round  to 
the  mess.  I  must  go  there,  and  as  it  is  getting  late  there 
is  no  use  dragging  Mrs.  Erlton  all  that  way.  And  she 
has  a  big  Christmas  dinner  on,  haven't  you,  Kate?  " 

As  the  young  fellow  climbed  up  into  the  dog-cart  be- 
side her,  Kate  Erlton  knew  that  one  chance  had  gone 
irretrievably,  irrevocably.  Would  there  be  another? 
Suddenly  in  the  darkness  she  clasped  her  hands  tight  and 
prayed  that  there  might  be — that  it  might  come  soon! 

And  round  them  as  they  drove  slowly  to  gain  the  city 
gate,  the  half-seen  crowd  w^hich  had  gathered  to  see  the 
strange  spell  were  drifting  homeward  to  spread  the  tale 
of  it  from  hearth  to  hearth. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IN    THE    VILLAGE. 

The  winter  rains  had  come  and  gone,  leaving  a  legacy 
of  gold  behind  them.  Promise  of  future  gold  in  the 
emerald  sea  of  young  wheat,  guerdon  of  present  gold  in 
the  mustard  blossom  curving  on  the  green,  like  the  crests 


IN    THE    VILLAGE.  131 

of  waves  curving  upon  a  wind-swept  northern  sea.  Far 
and  near,  wide  as  the  eye  could  reach,  there  was  nothing 
to  be  seen  save  this — a  waving  sea  of  green  wheat  crested 
by  yellow  mustard.  But  in  the  center,  whence  the  eye 
looked,  stood  a  human  ant-hill ;  for  the  congeries  of  mud 
alleys,  mud  walls,  mud  roofs,  forming  the  village,  looked 
from  a  little  distance  like  nothing  else.  Viewed  broadly, 
too,  it  was  simply  Earth  made  plastic  by  the  Form- 
bringer,  Water,  hardened  again  by  the  Sun-lire.  The 
triple  elements  combined  mto  a  shell  for  laboring  life. 
Like  most  villages  in  Northern  India  this  one  stood  high 
on  its  own  ruins,  girt  round  by  shallow  glistening  tanks 
which  were  at  once  its  cradle  and  its  grave.  From  them 
the  mud  for  the  first  and  last  house  had  been  dug,  to 
them  the  periodical  rains  of  August  washed  back  the 
village  bit  by  bit. 

There  was  scarcely  a  sign  of  life  in  the  sky-encircled 
plain.  Scarcely  a  tree,  scarcely  a  landmark.  Nothing 
far  or  near  to  show  that  aught  lay  beyond  the  pale  hori- 
zon. The  crisp,  cold  air  of  a  mid-January  dawn  held 
scarcely  a  sound,  for  the  village  was  still  asleep.  Here 
and  there,  maybe,  someone  was  stirring;  but  with  that 
deliberate  calm  which  comes  to  those  who  by  virtue 
of  early  rising  have  the  world  to  themselves.  Here 
and  there,  too.  in  the  high  stone  inclosures  serving  at 
once  as  a  protection  to  the  village  and  a  cattlefold,  some 
goat,  impatient  to  be  roaming,  bleated  querulously;  but 
these  sights  and  sounds  only  seemed  to  increase  the  still- 
ness, the  silence  surrounding  them.  It  is  a  scene 
which  to  most  civilized  eyes  is  oppressive  in  its  self- 
centered  isolation,  its  air  of  remoteness.  The  isolation 
of  a  community,  self-supporting,  self-sufficing,  the  re- 
moteness of  a  place  which  cares  not  if,  indeed,  there  be 
a  world  beyond  its  boundaries.  And  this  one,  type  of 
many  alike  in  most  things — above  all,  in  steadfast  self- 
absorption — shall  be  left  nameless.  We  are  in  the  vil- 
lage, that  is  enough. 

Suddenly  an  odd,  clamorous  wail  rang  from  among 
the  green  corn,  and  a  band  of  gray  cranes  which  had  been 
standing  knee-deep  in  the  wheat  rose  awkwardly  and 
headed,    arrow-shaped,    for    the    great    Nujjufgurhjheel 


132  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

which  they  wotted  of  below  the  horizon:  in  this  display- 
ing a  wider  outlook  than  the  villagers  who  toiled  and 
slept  within  sight  of  those  fields,  while  the  birds  left  them 
at  dawn  for  the  sedgy  stretches  of  another  world. 

At  the  sound  a  man,  who  had  been  crouching  half- 
asleep  against  a  mud  wall,  rose  to  his  feet  and  peered 
drowsily  over  the  fields.  Something,  he  knew,  must  have 
startled  the  gray  cranes;  and  he  was  the  village  watch- 
man. As  his  father  had  been  before  him,  as  his  son,  please 
God,  would  be  after  him.  He  carried  a  short  spear  hung 
with  jingles  as  his  badge  of  office,  and  he  leaned  upon  it 
lazily  as  he  looked  out  into  the  gray  dawn.  Then  he 
wrapped  his  blanket  closer  round  him,  and  walked 
leisurely  to  meet  the  solitary  figure  coming  toward  him, 
threading  its  way  by  an  invisible  path  through  the  dew- 
hung  sea  of  wheat. 

"  Ari,  brother,"  he  called  mildly  when  he  reached  ear- 
shot, "is  it  well?" 

"  It  is  well,"  came  the  answer.  So  he  waited,  leaning 
on  his  spear,  until  the  newcomer  stood  beside  him,  his 
bare  legs  glistening  and  the  folds  of  his  drooping  blanket 
frosted  with  the  dew.  In  one  hand  he,  also,  held  a  watch- 
man's spear;  in  the  other  one  of  those  unleavened  cakes, 
round  and  flat  like  a  pancake,  which  form  the  daily  bread 
alike  of  rich  and  poor.     This  he  held  out,  saying  briefly: 

"  For  the  elders.  From  the  South  to  the  North. 
From  the  East  to  the  West." 

"  Wherefore?  "  The  brief  reply  held  vague  curiosity; 
no  more.  The  cake  had  already  changed  hands,  un- 
challenged. 

"  God  knows.  It  came  to  us  from  Goloowallah  with 
the  message  as  I  gave  it.     Thy  folk  will  pass  it  on?  " 

"  Likely;  when  the  day's  work  is  done.  How  go  the 
crops  thy  way?  Here,  as  thou  seest,  'tis  God's  dew  on 
God's  grain." 

"  With  us  also.  There  will  be  marriages  galore  this 
May." 

"Ay!  if  this  bring  naught."  The  speaker  nodded 
toward  the  cake  which  now  lay  on  the  ground  between 
them,  for  they  had  inevitably  squatted  down  to  take  alter- 
nate pulls  at  a  pipe.     "  What  can  it  bring?  " 


IN    THE    VILLAGE.  133 

"  God  knows,"  replied  the  host  in  his  turn.  So  the 
two,  with  that  final  reference  in  their  minds,  sat  looking 
dully  at  the  chupatti  as  if  it  were  some  strange  wild  fowl. 
Sat  silently,  as  men  will  do  over  a  pipe,  till  a  clinking  of 
anklets  and  a  chatter  of  feminine  voices  came  round  the 
corner,  and  the  foremost  woman  of  the  troop  on  their 
way  to  the  tank  drew  her  veil  close  swiftly  at  sight  of  a 
stranger.  Yet  her  voice  came  as  swiftly.  "  What  news, 
brother?     What  news?" 

"  None  for  thee,  Mother  Kirpo,"  answered  the  resi- 
dent watchman  tartly.     '*  'Tis  for  the  elders." 

The  titterings  and  tossings  of  veiled  heads  at  this  snub 
to  the  worst  gossip  in  the  village,  ended  in  an  expectant 
pause  as  a  very  old  woman,  with  a  fine-cut  face  which 
had  long  since  forsworn  concealment,  stepped  up  to 
the  watchman,  and  squatting  down  beside  them,  raised 
the  cake  in  her  wrinkled  hands. 

"  From  the  North  to  the  South  or  the  South  to  the 
North.  From  the  East  to  the  West  or  the  West  to  the 
East.     Which?"  she  asked,  nodding  her  old  head. 

"  Sure  it  was  so,  mother,"  replied  the  stranger,  sur- 
prised.    "  Dost  know  aught?  " 

"  Know?"  she  echoed;  "  I  know  'tis  an  old  tale — an 
old  tale." 

"  What  is  an  old  tale,  mother? "  asked  the  women 
eagerly,  as,  emboldened  by  the  prresence  of  the  village 
spey-wife,  they  crowded  round,  eying  the  cake  curi- 
ously. 

She  gave  a  scornful  laugh,  let  the  chupatti  drop,  and, 
rising  to  her  feet,  passed  on  to  the  tank.  It  suited  her 
profession  to  be  mysterious,  and  she  knew  no  more  than 
this,  that  once,  or  pt  most  twice  in  her  long  life,  such  a 
token  had  come  peacefully  into  the  village,  and  passed 
out  of  it  as  peacefully  with  its  message. 

"  Mai  Dhunnoo  knows  something,  for  sure,"  com- 
mented a  deep-bosomed  mother  of  sons  as  the  troop 
followed  their  "  chaperone's  "  lead,  closer  serried  than 
before,  full  of  whispering  surmise.  "The  gods  send  it 
mean  not  smallpox.  I  will  give  curds  and  sugar  to  thee, 
Mata  jee,  each  Friday  for  a  year!  I  swear  it  for  safety 
to  the  boys." 


134  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    IVATERS. 

"  He  slipped  in  a  puddle  and  cried  *  Hail  to  the 
Ganges,'  "  retorted  her  neighbor,  an  ill-looking  woman 
blind  of  one  eye.  She  had  been  the  richest  heiress  in 
the  village,  and  was  in  consequence  the  wife  of  the  hand- 
somest young  man  in  it;  a  childless  wife  into  the  bar- 
gain. "  Boys  do  not  fill  the  world,  Veru;  not  even  thine! 
Their  welfare  will  not  set  tokens  a-going.  It  needs  some 
real  misfortune  for  that." 

"  Then  thy  life  is  safe  for  sure,"  began  the  other  hotly, 
when  a  peacemaker  intervened. 

"Wrangle  not,  sisters!  All  are  naked  when  their 
clothes  are  gone;  and  the  warning  may  be  for  us  all. 
Mayhap  the  Toorks  are  coming  once  more — Mai 
Dhunnoo  said  'twas  an  old  tale.  God  send  we  be  not  all 
reft  from  our  husbands." 

"  That  would  I  never  be,"  protested  the  heiress,  pro- 
voking uproarious  titterings  among  some  girls. 

"  No  such  luck  for  poor  Ramo,"  whispered  one, 
"  And  she  sonless  too!  " 

"  He  shaved  for  the  heat,  and  then  the  hail  fell  on  his 
bald  pate,"  quoted  the  prettiest  callously.  "  Serve  him 
right,  say  I.     He,  at  least,  had  two  eyes." 

The  burst  of  laughter  following  this  sally  made  the 
peacemaker,  who,  as  the  wife  of  the  headman,  had 
authority,  turn  in  rebuke.  'Twas  no  laughing  matter  to 
Jatnis,  as  they  were,  who  did  so  much  of  the  field  work, 
that  a  token,  maybe  of  ill,  should  come  to  the  village 
when  the  harvest  promised  so  well.  The  revenue  had  to 
be  paid,  smallpox  or  no  smallpox,  Toork  or  no  Toork. 
And  was  not  one  of  the  Huzoors  in  camp  already  giving 
an  eye  to  the  look  of  the  crops,  and  the  other  to  the 
shooting  of  wild  things?  Could  they  not  hear  the  sound 
of  his  gim  for  themselves  if  they  listened  instead  of  chat- 
tering? And  truly  enough,  in  the  pause  which  came  to 
mirth,  there  echoed  from  the  pale  northern  horizon,  be- 
yond which  lay  the  big  jheels,  a  shot  or  two,  faint  and 
far;  for  all  that  dealing  death  to  some  of  God's  creatures. 
And  these  listeners  dealt  death  to  none;  their  faith  for- 
bade it. 

"  Think  you  they  will  come  our  way  and  kill  our  deer 
as  they  did  once?"  asked  a  slender  slip  of  a  girl  anx- 


IN    THE    VILLAGE.  135 

iously.  Her  tame  fawn  had  lately  taken  to  joining  the 
wild  ones  when  they  came  at  dawn  to  feed  upon  the 
wheat. 

"  God  knows,"  replied  one  beside  her.  "  They  will 
come  if  they  like,  and  kill  if  they  like.  Are  they  not  the 
masters?  " 

So  the  final  reference  was  in  the  women's  minds  also, 
as,  while  the  muddy  water  strained  slowly  into  their  pots 
through  a  filtering  corner  of  their  veils,  they  raised  their 
eyes  curiously,  doubtfully,  to  the  horizon  which  held  the 
master.  It  had  held  him  always.  To  the  north  or  to 
the  south,  the  east  or  the  west.  Mohammedan,  Mah- 
ratta.  Christian.  But  always  coming  over  the  far 
horizon  and  slaying  something.  In  old  days  husbands, 
brothers,  fathers.  Nowadays  the  herds  of  deer  which 
the  sacredness  of  life  allowed  to  have  their  full  of  the 
wheat  unchecked,  or  the  peacocks  who  spread  their  tails, 
securely  vainglorious,  on  the  heaps  of  corn  upon  the 
threshing  floors. 

So  the  unleavened  cake  stayed  in  the  village  all  day 
long,  and  when  the  slant  shadows  brought  leisure,  the 
headman's  wife  baked  two  cakes,  one  for  the  north  the 
other  for  the  west,  and  Dittu  the  old  watchman,  and 
the  embryo  watchman  his  son,  set  ofif  with  them  to  the 
next  village  west  and  north,  since  that  was  the  old  cus- 
tom. So  much  must  be  done  because  their  fathers  had 
done  it;  for  the  rest,  who  could  tell? 

Nevertheless,  as  the  messengers  passed  through  the 
village  street  where  the  women  sat  spinning,  many  paused 
to  look  after  them,  with  a  vague  relief  that  the  unknown, 
unsought,  had  gone  out  of  their  life.  Then  the  moon 
rose  peacefully,  and  one  by  one  the  sights  and  sounds  of 
that  life  ceased.  The  latest  of  all  was  the  hum  of  a  mill 
in  one  of  the  poorest  houses,  and  a  snatch  of  a  harvest- 
song  in  murmuring  accompaniment: 

"  When  the  sickle  meets  the  corn, 
From  their  meeting  joy  is  born  ; 
When  the  sickle  smites  the  wheat, 
Care  is  conquered,  sorrow  beat." 

"  Have  a  care,  sister,  have  a  care!  "  came  that  rebuk- 
ing voice  from  the  headman's  house  close  by.    "  Wouldst 


136  av   THE  FACE    OF   THE    WATERS. 

bring  ill-luck  on  us  all,  that  grinding  but  millet  thou 
singest  the  song  of  wheat?  " 

And  thereinafter  there  was  no  song  at  all,  and  sleep 
settled  on  all  things  peacefully.  The  token  had  come 
and  gone,  leaving  the  mud  shell  and  the  laboring  life 
within  it  as  it  had  been  before.  Curiously  impassive, 
impassively  curious.  There  was  one  more  portent  in  the 
sky,  one  more  mist  on  the  dim  horizon.     That  was  all. 

So  through  the  dew-hung  fields  the  mysterious  mes- 
sage sped  west  and  south. 

Sent  by  whom?     And  wherefore? 

The  question  was  being  asked  by  the  masters  in  desul- 
tory fashion  as  they  sat  round  a  bonfire,  which  blazed  in 
the  center  of  the  Resident's  camp,  on  the  banks  of  the 
great  jheel.  It  was  a  shooting  camp,  a  standing  camp, 
lavish  in  comfort.  The  wdiite  tents  were  ranged  symmet- 
rically on  three  sides  of  a  square,  and,  in  the  moonlight, 
shone  almost  as  brightly  as  the  long  levels  of  water 
stretching  a  way  on  the  fourth  side  to  the  sedgy  brakes  and 
isolated  palms  of  the  snipe  marshes.  Behind  rose  a  heavy 
mass  of  burnished  foliage,  and  in  front  of  the  big  mess- 
tent  the  English  flag  drooped  from  its  mast  in  the  still 
night  air.  Nearer  the  jheel  again  the  bonfire  flashed  and 
crackled,  sending  a  column  of  smoke  and  sparks  into  the 
star-set  sky.  The  ground  about  it  was  spread  with 
carpets  and  Persian  rugs,  and  here,  in  luxurious  arm- 
chairs, the  comfortably-tired  sportsmen  were  lounging 
after  dinner,  some  of  them  in  mess  uniform,  some  in 
civilian  black,  but  all  in  decorous  dress;  for  not  only 
was  the  Brigadier  present,  but  also  a  small  sprinkling  of 
ladies  wrapped  in  fur  cloaks  above  their  evening  fineries. 
Briefly,  a  company  more  suitable  to  the  foyer  of  a  theater 
than  this  barbaric  bonfire.  But  the  whole  camp,  with  its 
endless  luxury,  stood  out  in  keen  contrast  with  the  sor- 
did savagery  of  a  wretched  hamlet  which  lay  half-hidden 
behind  the  trees. 

The  contrast  struck  Jim  Douglas,  who  for  that  even- 
ing only,  happened  to  be  the  Resident's  guest;  for,  hav- 
ing been  on  the  jheel  in  a  very  different  sort  of  camp 
when  the  Resident  had  invaded  his  solitude,  the  usual 
invitation  to  dine  had  followed  as  a  matter  of  course;  as 


IN    THE    VILLAGE.  137 

it  would  have  followed  to  any  white  face  with  pretensions 
to  be  considered  a  gentleman's.  He  had  accepted  it,  be- 
cause, every  now  and  again,  a  desire  "  to  chuck  "  as  he 
expressed  it,  and  go  back  to  the  ordinary  life  of  his  class 
came  over  him.  This  mood  had  been  on  him  per- 
sistently ever  since  the  Vama  and  Indra  incident,  so  that, 
for  the  time  being,  he  had  dismissed  his  scoundrels  and 
given  up  spying  in  disgust.  He  had,  he  told  himself, 
wasted  his  time,  and  the  military  magnate  was  justified 
in  politely  dispensing  with  his  further  services.  There 
was,  in  truth,  no  -need  for  them  so  far  as  he  could  see. 
There  was  plenty  of  talk,  plenty  of  discontent,  but  noth- 
ing more.  And  even  that  anyone  could  observe  and 
gauge;  for  there  was  no  mystery,  no  concealment.  The 
whole  afTair  was  invertebrate  utterly,  except  every  now 
and  again  when  you  came  upon  the  track  of  the  Moulvie 
of  Fyzabad.  It  was  conceivable  that  the  aspect  might 
change,^  but  for  the  present  he  was  sick  of  the  whole 
thing,  ambition  and  all.  Horse-dealing  was  better.  So 
he  had  established  himself  in  a  small  house  in  Duryagunj, 
started  a  stable,  and  then  taken  a  holiday  in  a  shooting 
pal  among  the  jheels  and  jungles,  where  in  his  younger 
days  he  had  spent  so  much  of  his  time. 

Thus,  after  eating  a  first-class  dinner,  he  was  smoking 
a  first-class  cigar,  and,  being  a  stranger  to  everyone 
there,  thinking  his  own  thoughts,  when  the  Resident's 
voice  came  from  the  other  side  of  the  fire  which,  with  its 
dancing  flame-light  distorting  every  feature  in  myriad 
variation,  disguised  rather  than  revealed  the  faces  seen 
by  it. 

"  You  have  bagged  one  or  two  in  your  district,  haven't 
you.  Ford?  " 

"What,  sir?  Bustard?"  inquired  the  Collector  of  the 
next  district,  who  had  come  over  his  border  for  a  day  or 
two's  shoot,  and  who  had  been  engrossed  in  sporting 
talk  with  his  neighbor.  There  was  a  laugh  from  the 
other  side  of  the  fire. 

"  No!  these  dm  patties.  The  Brigadier  was  asking  me 
if  they  were  as  numerous  as  they  are  further  south,  and 
Fraser.  here,  said  none  had  come  into  the  Delhi  district 
as  yet." 


138  O.V    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

"  One  came  to-day  into  the  hamlet  behind  the  tents," 
said  Jim  Douglas  quietly.  "  I  met  the  man  bringing  it. 
A  watchman  from  over  the  border  in  Mr.  Ford's  district." 

Half  a  dozen  faces  turned  to  the  voice  which  spoke  so 
confidently,  and  then  asked  in  whispers  who  the  man 
was?  But  there  was  nothing  in  the  whispered  replies  to 
warrant  that  tone  of  imparting  information  to  others, 
and  a  man  in  black  clothes  seemed  to  resent  it,  for  he 
appealed  to  the  Resident  rather  fulsomely. 

"  It  will  be  in  the  reports  to-morrow,  no  doubt,  sir. 
For  myself  I  attach  no  importance  to  it.  The  custom  is 
an  old  one.  I  remember  observing  it  in  Muttra  when 
smallpox  was  bad.  But  I  should  like  to  have  your 
opinion.     You  ought  to  know  if  anyone  does." 

The  compliment  was  no  idle  flattery.  None  had  a 
better  right  to  it  than  Sir  Theophilus  JMetcalfe,  w^iose 
illustrious  name  had  been  a  power  in  Delhi  for  two 
generations,  and  whose  uncle  had  been  one  of  India's 
most  distinguished  statesmen.  So  there  w^as  a  hush  for 
his  reply. 

"  I  can't  say,"  he  answered  deliberately.  "  Personally 
I  doubt  the  dissatisfaction  ever  coming  to  a  head.  There 
is  a  good  deal,  of  course,  but  of  late,  so  it  has  seemed  to 
me,  it  is  quieting  down.  People  are  getting  tired  of  fer- 
menting. As  for  the  causes  of  the  disaffection  it  is 
patent.  We  can't,  simply,  do  the  work  we  are  doing 
without  making  enemies  of  those  w^hose  vested  interests 
w'e  have  to  destroy.  We  may  have  gone  ahead  a  little 
too  fast;  but  that  is  another  question.  As  for  the  army, 
I've  no  right  to  speak  of  it,  but  it  seems  to  me  it  has  been 
allowed  to  get  out  of  hand,  out  of  touch.  It  will  need 
care  to  bring  it  into  discipline,  but  I  don't  anticipate 
trouble.  Its  mixed  character  is  our  safeguard.  It  would 
be  hard  for  even  a  good  leader  to  hit  on  a  general  griev- 
ance which  would  touch  both  the  army  and  the  civil 
population,  Hindoos  and  Mohammedans — and  as  a 
matter  of  fact  they  have  no  leader  at  all." 

"  Have  you  ever  come  across  the  Moulvie  of  Fyzabad, 
sir? "  remarked  Jim  Douglas  again.  "  If  I  had  the 
power  I  would  shoot  him  like  a  mad  dog.  But  for  the 
rest  I  quite  agree." 


IN    THE    VILLAGE.  139 

Here  a  stir  behind  them  distracted  both  his  attention 
and  the  attention  of  those  who  were  hstening  to  this 
authoritative  voice  with  bated  breath. 

"  Is  that  the  post?  Oh,  how  dehghtful!  "  chorused 
the  ladies,  and  more  than  one  added  plaintively,  "  I  won- 
der if  the  English  mail  is  in." 

"  Let's  bet  on  it.  Sir  Theophilus  to  hold  the  stakes," 
cried  a  young  fellow  who  had  been  yawning  through 
the  discussion.  But  the  subject  was  too  serious  for  such 
light  handling,  to  judge  by  the  eager  faces  which 
crowded  round,  while  the  red-coated  chupr assies  poured 
the  contents  of  the  bags  into  a  heap  on  the  carpet  at  their 
master's  feet.  There  is  always  a  suspense  about  that 
moment  of  search  among  the  bundles  of  official  cor- 
respondence, the  files,  the  cases  which  fill  up  the  camp 
mail,  for  the  thin  packet  of  private  letters  which  is  the 
only  tie  between  you  and  the  world;  but  when  hopes  of 
home  news  is  superadded,  the  breath  is  apt  to  come 
faster.  And  so  a  scene,  trivial  in  itself,  points  an  inex- 
orable finger  to  the  broad  fact  underlying  all  our  Indian 
administration,  that  we  are  strangers  and  exiles. 

"  Not  in!  "  announced  the  Resident,  studiously  cheer- 
ful. "  But  there  are  heaps  of  letters  for  everybody. 
Did  the  mem-sahib  come  in  the  carriage,  Gamu?  "  he 
added  as  he  sorted  out  the  owners. 

"  Huzoor!  "  replied  the  head  orderly,  who  was  also  his 
master's  factotum,  thrusting  the  remainder  back  in  the 
bags.  "  And  the  Major  sahib  also.  According  to 
order,  refreshments  are  being  offered." 

"  Glad  Erlton  could  come,"  remarked  a  voice  to  its 
neighbor.     "  \\^e  want  another  good  shot  badly." 

"  And  Mrs.  Gissing  is  awfully  good  company  too," 
assented  the  neighbor.  Jim  Douglas,  who  was  sitting  on 
the  other  side,  looked  up  quickly.  The  juxtaposition  of 
the  names  surprised  him  after  what  he  had  seen,  or 
thought  he  had  seen  at  Christmas  time. 

"  Is   that   Mrs.    Gissing   from   Lucknow? "  he   asked. 

"  I  believe  so.  She  is  a  stranger  here.  Seems 
awfully  jolly,  but  the  women  don't  like  her.  Do  you 
know  anything  of  her?  " 

Jim  Douglas  hesitated.     He  could  have  easily  satisfied 


I40  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

the  ear  evidently  agog  for  scandal;  but  what,  after  all, 
did  he  know  of  her?  What  did  he  know  of  his  own 
experience?  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  she  stood  there,  de- 
fiantly dignified,  asking  him  the  question,  her  china-blue 
eyes  flashing,  the  childish  face  set  and  stern. 

"  Personally  I  know  little,"  he  replied,  "  but  that  little 
is  very  much  to  her  credit." 

As  he  relapsed  into  silence  and  smoke  he  felt  that  she 
had  once  more  walked  boldly  into  his  consciousness  and 
claimed  recognition.  She  had  forced  him  to  acknowl- 
edge something  in  her  which  corresponded  with  some- 
thnig  in  him.  Something  unexpected.  If  Kate  Erlton's 
eyes  with  their  cold  glint  in  them  had  flashed  like  that, 
he  would  not  have  wondered;  but  they  had  not.  They 
had  done  just  the  reverse.  They  had  softened;  they  had 
only  looked  heroic.  Underneath  the  glint  which  had 
sent  him  on  a  wild-goose  chase  had  lain  that  common- 
place indefinable  womanhood,  sweet  enough,  but  a  bit 
sickly,  w^hich  could  be  in  any  woman's  eyes  if  you  fancied 
yourself  in  love  with  her.  It  had  lain  in  the  eyes  belong- 
ing to  the  golden  curl,  in  poor  little  Zora's  eyes,  might 
conceivably  lie  in  half  a  dozen  others. 

"  By  George!  "  came  an  eager  voice  from  the  group 
of  men  who  were  reading  their  letters  by  the  light  of  a 
lamp  held  for  the  purpose  by  a  silent  bronze  image  of  a 
man  in  uniform.  "  I  have  some  news  here  which  will 
interest  you,  sir.  There  has  been  a  row  at  Dum-Dum 
about  the  new  Enfield  cartridges." 

"Eh!  what's  that?"  asked  the  Brigadier,  looking  up 
from  his  own  correspondence.  "  Nothing  serious,  I 
hope." 

"  Not  yet,  but  it  seems  curious  by  the  light  of  what  we 
were  discussing,  and  what  Mr. — er — Capt " 

"  Douglas,"  suggested  the  owner  of  the  name,  who  at 
the  first  words  had  sat  up  to  listen  intently.  His  face 
had  a  certain  anticipation  in  it;  almost  an  eagerness. 

"  Thanks.  It's  a  letter  from  the  musketry  depot. 
Shall  I  read  it,  sir?  " 

The  Brigadier  nodded,  one  or  two  men  looked  up  to 
listen,  but  most  went  on  with  their  letters  or  discussed 
the  chances  of  slaughter  for  the  morrow. 


IN   THE    VILLAGE.  14^ 

"  There  is  a  most  unpleasant  feeling  abroad  respecting 
these  new  cartridges,  which  came  to  light  a  day  or  two 
ago  in  consecjuence  of  a  high-caste  sepoy  refusing  to  let 
a  lower  caste  workman  drink  out  of  his  cup.  The  man 
retorted  that  as  the  cartridges  being  made  in  the  Arsenal 
were  smeared  with  pig's  grease  and  cow's  fat  there  would 
soon  be  no  caste  left  in  the  army.  The  sepoy  com- 
plained, and  it  came  out  that  this  idea  is  already  widely 
spread.  Wright  denied  the  fact  flatly  at  first,  but  found 
out  that  large  quantities  of  beef-tallow  had  been  in- 
dented for  by  the  Ordnance.  And  that,  of  course,  made 
the  men  think  he  had  lied  about  it.  Bontein,  the  chief, 
has  wisely  suggested  altering  the  drill,  since  the  men  say 
they  will  not  bite  the  cartridges.  If  they  do,  their  rela- 
tions won't  eat  with  them  when  they  go  home  on  leave. 
You  see,  with  this  new  rifle  it  is  not  really  necessary  to 
bite  the  cartridge  at  all,  so  it  would  be  a  quite  natural 
alteration,  and  get  us  out  of  the  difficulty  without  giving 
in.  The  suggestion  has  been  forwarded,  and  if  it  could  be 
settled  sharp  would  smother  the  business;  but  what  with 

duffers  and "     The  reader  broke  off,  and  a  faint  smile 

showed  even  on  the  Brigadier's  face  as  the  former 
skipped  hurriedly  to  find  something  safer — *'  Old  Gen- 
eral Hearsey,  who  knows  the  natives  like  a  book,  says 
there  is  trouble  in  it.  He  declares  that  the  Moulvie  of 
Fyzabad — whoever  that  may  be " 

The  faces  looked  at  Jim  Douglas  curiously,  but  he  was 
too  eager  to  notice  it. 

"  Is  at  the  bottom  of  the  cJiiipaffics  we  hear  are  being 
sent  round  up-country;  but  that  he  is  in  league  also  with 
the  Brahmins  in  Calcutta — especially  the  priests  at  Kali's 
shrine — over  siiffee  and  widow  re-marriage  and  all  that. 
However,  all  I  know  is  that  both  Hindoos  and  Moham- 
medans in  my  classes  are  in  a  blue  funk  about  the 
cartridges,  and  swear  even  their  wives  won't  live  with 
them  if  they  touch  them." 

"  The  common  grievance,"  said  Jim  Douglas,  in  the 
silence  that  ensued.  "  It  alters  the  whole  aspect  of 
affairs." 

"Prepare  to  receive  cavalry!"  yawned  the  man  who 
had  suggested  betting  on  the  chance  of  the  home-mail. 


142  aV   THE  FACE   OF   THE    IVATEJ?S. 

What  was  the  use  of  a  week's  leave  on  the  best  snipe 
jheel  about,  if  it  was  to  be  spent  in  talking  shop? 

"  No!  "  cried  the  man  in  black,  not  unwilling  to 
change  the  subject  of  which  he  had  not  yet  official  cogni- 
zance. "  Prepare  to  receive  ladies.  There  is  Mrs. 
Gissing,  looking  as  fresh  as  paint!  " 

She  looked  fresh,  indeed,  as  she  came  forward;  her 
curly  hair,  rough  when  fashionable  heads  were  smooth, 
glistening  in  the  firelight,  the  fluffy  swansdown  on  her 
long  coat  framing  her  childish  face  softly.  Behind  her, 
heavy,  handsome,  came  Major  Erlton  with  the  half- 
sheepish  air  men  assume  when  they  are  following  a 
woman's  lead. 

"  Here  I  am  at  last,  Sir  Theophilus,"  she  began,  in  a 
gay  artificial  voice  as  she  passed  Jim  Douglas,  who  stood 
up,  pushing  his  chair  aside  to  give  more  room.  "  I'm  so 
glad  Major  Erlton  managed  to  get  leave.  I'm  such  a 
coward!  I  should  have  died  of  fright  all  by  myself  in 
that  long,  lonely " 

"  Keep  still !  "  interrupted  a  peremptory  voice  behind 
her,  as  a  pair  of  swift  unceremonious  arms  seized  her 
round  the  waist,  and  by  sheer  force  dragged  her  back  a 
step,  then  held  her  tight-clasped  to  something  that  beat 
fast  despite  the  calm  tone.  "  Kill  that  snake,  someone! 
There,  right  at  her  feet!  It  isn't  a  branch.  I  saw  it 
move.     Don't  stir,  Mrs.  Gissing,  it's  all  right." 

It  might  be,  but  the  heart  she  felt  beat  hard;  and  the 
one  beneath  his  hand  gave  a  bound  and  then  seemed  to 
stand  still,  as  the  sticks  and  staves,  hastily  caught  up, 
smote  furiously  on  her  very  dress,  so  close  did  certain 
death  lie  to  her.  There  was  a  faint  scent  of  lavender 
about  that  dress,  about  her  curly  hair,  which  Jim  Doug- 
las never  forgot;  just  as  he  never  forgot  the  passionate 
admiration  which  made  his  hands  relax  to  an  infinite 
tenderness,  when  she  uttered  no  cry,  no  sound;  when 
there  was  no  need  to  hold  her,  so  still  did  she  stand,  so 
absolutely  in  unison  with  the  defiance  of  Fate  which 
kept  him  steady  as  a  rock.  Surely  no  one  in  all  his  life, 
he  thought,  had  ever  stood  so  close  to  him,  yet  so 
far  off!  ^ 

"  God  bless  my  soul!     My  dear  lady,  what  an  escape!  " 


IN    THE    VILLAGE.  143 

The  hurried  faltering  exclamation  from  a  bystander  her- 
alded the  holding  up  of  a  long  limp  rope  of  a  thing  hang- 
ing helplessly  over  a  stick.  It  was  the  signal  for  a 
perfect  babel.  Many  had  seen  the  brute,  but  had  thought 
it  a  branch,  others  had  similar  experiences  of  drowsy 
snakes  scorched  out  of  winter  quarters  in  some  hollow 
log,  and  all  crowded  round  i\Irs.  Gissing,  loud  in  praise 
of  her  coolness.  Only  she  turned  quickly  to  see  who 
had  held  her;  and  found  Major  Erlton. 

"  The  brute  hasn't  touched  you,  has  he?  "  he  began 
huskily,  then  broke  into  almost  a  sob  of  relief,  "  My 
God!  what  an  escape!  " 

She  glanced  at  him  with  the  faint  distaste  which  any 
expression  of  strong  emotion  showed  toward  her  by  a 
man  always  provoked,  and  gave  one  of  her  high  irrele- 
vant laughs. 

"  Is  it?  I  may  die  a  worse  death.  But  I  want  him — 
where  is  he?  " 

"  Slipped  away  from  your  gratitude,  I  expect,"  said  the 
Collector.  "  But  I'll  betray  him.  It  was  the  man  who 
knew  about  the  chupatfics,  Sir  Theophilus;  I  don't  know 
his  name." 

"  Douglas,"  said  the  host.  "  He  is  in  camp  a  mile  or 
two  down  the  jheel.  I  expect  he  has  gone  back.  He 
seemed  a  nice  fellow." 

Mrs.  Gissing  made  a  vwiic.  "1  would  not  have  been 
so  grateful  as  all  that!  I  would  only  have  said  '  Bravo  ' 
to  him." 

Her  own  phrase  seemed  to  startle  her,  she  broke  off 
with  a  sudden  wistful  look  in  her  w-ide  blue  eyes. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Gissing,  have  a  glass  of  wine;  you 
must  indeed,"  fussed  the  Brigadier.  But  the  little  lady 
set  the  suggestion  aside. 

"Douglas!"  she  repeated.  "I  wonder  where  he 
comes  from?     Does  anyone  know  a  Douglas?" 

"  James  Sholto  Douglas,"  corrected  the  host.  "  It's 
a  good  name." 

"  And  I  knew^  a  good  fellow  of  that  name  once;  but  he 
went  under,"  said  an  older  man. 

"  About  what?  "  Alice  Gissing's  eyes  challenged  the 
speaker,  who  stood  close  to  her. 


144  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

"  About  a  woman,  my  dear  lady." 

"  Poor  dear!  Erlton,  you  must  fetch  him  over  to  see 
me  to-morrow  morning."  She  said  it  with  infinite 
verve,  and  her  hearers  laughed. 

"  Him!  "  retorted  someone.  "  How  do  you  know  it's 
the  same  man?  " 

She  nodded  her  head  gayly.  "  I've  a  fancy  it  is.  And 
I  am  bound  to  be  nice  to  him  anyhow." 

She  had  not  the  chance,  however.  Major  Erlton,  rid- 
ing over  before  breakfast  to  catch  him,  found  nothing 
but  the  square-shaped  furrow  surrounding  a  dry  vacant 
spot  which  shows  where  a  tent  has  been. 

For  Jim  Douglas  was  already  on  his  way  back  to 
Delhi,  on  his  way  back  to  more  than  Delhi  if  he  suc- 
ceeded in  carrying  out  a  plan  which  had  suggested  itself 
to  him  when  he  heard  of  General  Hearsey's  belief  that 
the  priests  conducting  the  agitation  against  widow  re- 
marriage and  the  abolition  of  suttee  were  leagued  with 
the  Mohammedan  revival.  Tara,  the  would-be  saint, 
was  still  in  Delhi.  He  had  not  sought  her  out  before, 
being  in  truth  angry  with  the  woman's  duplicity,  and  not 
wanting  to  run  the  risk  of  her  chattering  about  him. 
Now%  as  he  had  said,  the  whole  position  was  changed. 
He  had  no  common  hold  upon  her,  and  might  through 
her  get  some  useful  hints  as  to  the  leading  men  in  the 
movement.  She  must  have  seen  them  when  the  miracle 
took  place  at  Benares.  The  thought  made  him  smile 
rather  savagely.  Decidedly  she  would  not  care  to  defy 
his  tongue;  from  saint  to  sinner  would  be  too  great  a 
fall. 

So  at  dusk  that  very  evening  he  was  back  in  his  mendi- 
cant's disguise,  begging  at  a  doorway  in  one  of  the 
oldest  parts  of  Delhi.  An  insignificant  doorway  in  an 
insignificant  alley.  But  there  was  a  faded  wreath  of 
yellow  marigolds  over  the  architrave,  a  deeper  hollow  in 
the  stone  threshold;  sure  signs,  both,  that  something  to 
attract  worshiping  feet  lay  within.  Yet  at  first  sight  the 
court  into  which  you  entered,  after  a  brief  passage  barred 
by  blank  wall,  was  much  as  other  courts.  It  was  set 
round  with  high  irregular  houses,  perfect  rabbit-warrens 
of  tiny  rooms,  slips  of  roof,  and  stairs;  all  conglomerate. 


IN   THE    VILLAGE.  145 

yet  distinct.  Some  reached  from  within,  some  from 
without,  some  from  neighboring  roofs,  and  some,  Heaven 
knows  how!  possibly  by  wings,  after  the  fashion  of  the 
purple  pigeons  cooing  and  sidling  on  the  purple  brick 
cornices.  In  one  corner,  however,  stood  a  huge  peepiil- 
trec,  and  partly  shaded  by  this,  partly  attached  to  an 
arcaded  building  of  two  stories,  was  a  small,  squalid- 
looking,  black  stone  Hindoo  temple.  It  was  not  more 
than  ten  feet  square,  triply  recessed  at  each  corner,  and 
with  a  policed  spire  continuing  the  recesses  of  the  base. 
A  sort  of  hollow  monolith  raised  on  a  plinth  of  three 
steps.  In  its  dark  windowless  sanctuary,  open  to  the 
outside  world  by  a  single  arch,  stood  a  polished  black 
stone,  resting  on  a  polished  black  stone  cup,  like  a  large 
acorn.  For  this  was  the  oldest  Shivala  in  Delhi,  and  in 
the  rabbit-warrens  surrounding  this  survival  of  Baal 
worship  lived  and  lodged  yogis,  beggars,  saints,  half  the 
insanity  and  sacerdotalism  of  Delhi.  It  was  not  a  place 
into  which  to  venture  rashly.  So  Jim  Douglas  sat  at  the 
gate  begging  while  the  clashings  and  brayings  and  drum- 
ings  echoed  out  into  the  alley.  For  the  seven  fold 
circling  of  the  Lamps  was  going  on,  and  if  Tara  did  not 
pass  to  this  evening  service  from  outside,  she  most  likely 
lived  within;  that  she  lodged  near  the  temple  he  knew. 

So  as  he  sat  waiting,  watching,^  the  light  faded,  the 
faint  smell  of  incense  grew  fainter,  the  stream  of  wor- 
shipers coming  to  take  the  holy  water  in  which  the  god 
had  been  washed  slackened.  Then  by  twos  and  threes 
the  Brahmins  and  yogis — the  Dean  and  Chapter,  as  it 
were — passed  out  clinking  half-pennies,  and  carrjnng 
the  ofYertory  in  kind,  tied  up  in  handkerchiefs. 

The  service  was  over,  and  Tara  must  therefore  live  in 
a  lodging  reached  from  within.  And  now,  when  the 
coast  was  clearing,  he  might  still  have  opportunity  of 
tracing  her.  So  he  rose  and  walked  in  boldly,  disap- 
pointed to  find  the  courtyard  was  almost  empty  already. 
There  were  only  a  few  stragglers,  mostly  women,  and 
they  in  the  white  shroud  of  widows;  but  even  in  the 
gloom  and  shadow  he  could  see  the  tall  figure  he  sought 
was  not  among  them,  and  he  was  about  to  slip  away 
when,  following  their  looks,  he  caught  sight  of  another 


146  ON    THE  FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

figure  crouching'  on  the  topmost  step  of  the  pHnth,  right 
in  front  of  the  sanctuary  door,  so  that  it  stood  faintly 
outhned  against  the  ghmnier  of  the  single  cresset,  which, 
raised  on  the  heap  of  half-dead  flowers  within,  showed 
them  and  nothing  more — nothing  but  the  shadows. 

He  drew  back  hastily  into  the  empty  arcade,  and 
waited  for  the  widows'  lingering  bare  feet — scarcely 
heard  even  on  those  echoing  stones — to  pass  out  and 
leave  him  and  Tara  alone.  For  it  was  Tara.  That  he 
knew  though  her  face  was  turned  from  him.  ^ 

The  feet  lingered  on,  making  him  fear  lest  some  of  the 
mendicants  who  must  lodge  in  these  arcades  should  re- 
turn, after  almsgiving  time,  and  find  him  there.  And 
as  they  lingered  he  thought  how  he  had  best  make  him- 
self known  to  the  devotee,  the  saint.  It  must  be  some- 
thing dramatic,  something  to  tie  her  tongue  at  once, 
something  to  bring  home  to  her  his  hold  upon  her.  The 
locket!  He  slipped  it  from  his  neck  and  stood  ready. 
Then,  as  the  last  flutter  of  white  disappeared,  he  stepped 
noiselessly  across  the  court. 

And  so,  suddenly,  between  the  rapt  face  and  the  dim 
light  on  which  its  eyes  were  fixed,  hung  a  dangling  gold 
oval,  and  the  Englishman,  bending  over  the  woman's 
shoulder  from  behind,  could  see  the  amaze  flash  to  the 
face.  And  his  other  hand  w-as  ready  with  the  clutch  of 
command,  his  tongue  with  a  swift  threat;  but  she  was  too 
quick  for  him.  She  was  round  at  his  feet  in  an  instant, 
clasping  them. 

"Master!     Master!" 

Jim  Douglas  recoiled  from  that  touch  once  more;  but 
with  a  half-shamed  surprise,  regret,  almost  remorse.  He 
had  meant  to  threaten  this  woman,  and  now 

She  was  up  again,  eager,  excited.  "  Quick!  The 
Huzoor  is  not  safe  here.  They  may  return  any  moment. 
Quick!     Quick!     Huzoor,  follow  me." 

And  as,  blindly,  he  obeyed,  passing  rapidly  through  a 
low  doorway  and  so  up  a  dark  staircase,  he  slipped  the 
locket  back  to  its  place  with  a  sort  of  groan.  Here  was 
another  woman  to  be  reckoned  with,  and  though  the  dis- 
covery suited  his  purpose,  and  though  he  knew  himself 
to  be  as  safe  as  her  woman's  wit  could  make  him,  he 


IN    THE  RESIDENCY.  147 

wondered  irritably  if  there  was  anything  in  the  world 
into  which  this  eternal  question  of  sex  did  not  intrude. 
And  then,  suddenly,  he  seemed  to  feel  Alice  Gissing's 
heart  beat  beneath  his  hand;  there  had  been  no  woman- 
hood in  that  touch. 

So  he  passed  on.  And  next  morning  he  was  on  his 
way  southward.  Tara  had  told  him  what  he  wanted  to 
know. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN    THE    RESIDENCY. 

"  Strawberries!     Oh,  how  delightful!  " 

Kate  Erlton  looked  with  real  emotion  at  a  plate  of 
strawberries  and  cream  which  Captain  Morecombe  had 
just  handed  to  her.  "  They  are  the  first  I  have  ever  seen 
in  India,"  she  went  on  in  almost  pathetic  explanation  of 
her  apparent  greed.  "  Where  could  Sir  Theophilus  have 
got  them?  " 

"  Meerut,"  replied  her  cavalier  wath  a  kindly  smile. 
"  They  grow  up-country.  But  they  put  one  in  mind  of 
.home,  don't  they?"  He  turned  away,  almost  em- 
barrassed, from  the  look  in  her  eye^;  and  added,  as  if  to 
change  the  subject,  "  The  Resident  does  it  splendidly, 
does  not  he?  " 

There  could  be  no  two  opinions  as  to  that.  The  park- 
like grounds  were  kept  like  an  English  garden,  the  house 
was  crammed  from  floor  to  ceiling  with  works  of  art, 
the  broad  verandas  were  full  of  rare  plants,  and  really 
valuable  statuary.  That  toward  the  river,  on  the  brink 
of  which  Metcalfe  House  stood,  gave  on  a  balustraded 
terrace  which  was  in  reality  the  roof  of  a  lower  story 
excavated,  for  the  sake  of  coolness,  in  the  bank  itself. 
Here,  among  others,  was  the  billiard  room,  from  the  bal- 
cony of  which  you  could  see  along  the  curved  stone 
embankment  of  the  river  to  the  Koodsia  garden,  which 
lay  between  Metcalfe  Park  and  the  rose-red  wall  of  the 
city.  It  was  an  old  pleasure-ground  of  the  Moghuls, 
and  a  ruined  palace,  half-hidden  in  creepers,  half  lost  in 


148  on   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

sheer  luxuriance  of  blossom,  still  stood  in  its  wilderness 
of  forest  trees  and  scented  shrubs;  a  very  different  style 
of  garden  from  that  over  which  Kate  Erlton  looked,  as  it 
undulated  away  in  lawns  and  drives  between  the  Ridge 
and  the  river. 

"  Yes!  "  she  said,  "  it  always  reminds  me  of  England; 
but  for  that "  She  pointed  to  the  dome  of  a  Moham- 
medan tomb  which  curved  boldly  into  the  blue  sky  close 
to  the  house. 

"  Yet  that  is  the  original  owner,"  replied  her  com- 
panion. "  There  is  rather  an  odd  story  about  that  tomb, 
Mrs.  Erlton.  It  is  the  burial  place  of  the  great  Akhbar's 
foster-brother.  Most  likely  he  was  a  cowherd  by  caste, 
for  their  women  often  go  out  as  nurses,  and  the  land 
about  here  all  belonged  to  these  Goojers,  as  they  are 
called.  But  when  we  occupied  Delhi,  a  civilian — one 
Blake — fancied  the  tomb  as  a  house,  added  to  it,  and 
removed  the  good  gentleman's  grave-stone  to  make  room 
for  his  dining-table — a  hospitable  man,  no  doubt,  as  the 
Resident  is  now.  But  the  Goojers  objected,  appealed  to 
the  Government  agent.  In  vain.  Curiously  enough 
both  those  men  were,  shortly  afterward,  assassinated." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  connect "  began  Kate  in  a 

tone  of  remonstrance. 

Captain  Morecombe  laughed.  "  In  India,  Mrs. 
Erlton,  it  is  foolish  to  try  and  settle  which  comes  first,  the 
owl  or  the  o^^^.  You  can't  dififerentiate  cause  and  effect 
when  both  are  incomprehensible.  But  if  I  were  Resident 
I  should  insure  myself  and  my  house  against  the  act  of 
God  and  the  Queen's  enemies." 

"  But  this  house?  "  she  protested. 

"  Is  built  on  the  site  of  a  Goojer  village,  and  they  were 
most  unwilling  to  sell.  One  could  hardly  believe  it  now, 
could  one?  Come  and  see  the  river  terrace.  It  is  the 
prettiest  place  in  Delhi  at  this  time  of  the  year." 

He  was  right;  for  the  last  days  of  March,  the  first  ones 
of  April  are  the  crown  and  glory  of  a  Northern  Indian 
garden.  Perhaps  because  there  is  already  that  faint  hint 
of  decay  which  makes  beauty  more  precious.  Another 
short  week  and  tlie  flower-lover  going  the  evening  round 
will  find  many  a  sun-weary  head  in  the  garden.     But  on 


IN    THE  RESIDENCY.  I49 

this  glorious  afternoon,  when  the  Resident  was  entertain- 
ing Delhi  in  right  residential  fashion,  there  w-as  not  a 
leaf  out  of  place,  a  blade  of  grass  untrimmed.  Long 
lines  of  English  annuals  in  pots  bordered  the  broad 
walks  evenly,  the  scentless  gardenia  festooned  the  rows 
of  cypress  in  disciplined  freedom,  the  roses  had  not  a 
fallen  petal,  though  the  palms  swept  their  long  fringes 
above  them  boldly,  and  strange  perfumed  creepers  leaped 
to  the  branches  of  the  forest  trees.  In  one  glade,  beside 
an  artificial  lake,  some  ladies  in  gay  dresses  were  com- 
peting for  an  archery  prize.  On  a  brick  dais  close  to  the 
house  the  band  of  a  native  regiment  was  playing  national 
airs,  and  beside  it  stood  a  gorgeous  marquee  of  Cashmere 
shawls  with  silver  poles  and  Persian  carpets;  the  whole 
stock  and  block  having  belonged  to  some  potentate  or 
another,  dead,  banished,  or  annexed.  Here  those  who 
wished  for  it  found  rest  in  English  chairs  or  Oriental 
divans;  and  here,  contrasting  with  their  host  and  his 
friends,  harmonizing  with  the  Cashmere  shawl  marquee, 
stood  a  group  of  guests  from  the  palace.  A  perfect  bevy 
of  princes,  suave,  watchful,  ready  at  the  slightest 
encouragement  to  crowd  round  the  Resident,  or  the 
Commissioner,  or  the  Brigadier,  with  noiseless  white- 
stockinged  feet.  Equally  ready  to  relapse  into  stolid 
indifference  when  unnoticed.  Here  was  Alirza  JMoghul, 
the  King's  eldest  son,  and  his  two"  supporters,  all  with 
lynx  eyes  for  a  sign,  a  hint,  of  favor  or  disfavor.  And 
here — a  sulky,  sickly  looking  lad  of  eighteen — was  Jewun 
Bukht,  Zeenut  Alaihl's  darling,  dressed  gorgeously  and 
blazing  with  jewels  which  left  no  doubt  as  to  who  would 
be  the  heir-apparent  if  she  had  her  way.  Prince  Abool- 
Bukr,  however,  scented,  effeminate,  watched  the  proceed- 
ings with  bright  eyes;  giving  the  ladies  unabashed 
admiration  and  after  a  time  actually  strolling  away  to  listen 
to  the  music.  Finally,  however,  drifting  to  the  stables  to 
gamble  with  the  grooms  over  a  quail  fight.  Then  there 
were  lesser  lights,  Ahsan-Oolah  the  physician,  his  lean 
plausible  face  and  thin  white  beard  suiting  his  black 
gown  and  skull-cap,  discussed  the  system  of  Greek 
medicine  with  the  Scotch  surgeon,  whose  fluent,  trench- 
ant Hindustani  had  an  Aberdonian  twang.     Then  there^ 


15°  O.V    THE   FACE    OF    THE    IVATERS. 

was  Elalii  Buksh,  whose  daughter  was  widow  of  the  late 
heir-apparent;  a  wily  man,  dogging  the  Resident's  steps 
with  persistent  adulation,  and  watched  uneasily  by  all  the 
other  factions.  A  few  rich  bankers  curiously  obsequious 
to  the  youngest  ensign,  and  one  or  two  pensioners  owing 
their  invitations  to  loyal  service,  made  up  the  company, 
which  kept  to  the  Persian  carpets  so  as  to  avoid  the 
necessity  for  slipping  on  and  of¥  the  shoes  which  lay  in 
rows  under  Gamu  the  orderly's  care,  and  the  consequent 
necessity  for  continual  fees.  For  Gamu  piled  up  the 
shekels  until  his  master,  after  the  mutiny,  had  reluctantly 
to  hang  him  for  extorting  blood-,  as  well  as  shoe-money. 

They  were  a  curious  company,  these  palace  guests, 
aliens  in  their  own  country,  speaking  to  none  save  high 
officials,  caring  to  speak  to  none,  and  waiting  with  ill- 
concealed  yawns  for  the  blunt  dismissal  or  the  cere- 
monious leave-taking  after  a  decent  space  of  boredom 
due  to  their  rank. 

"  I  wonder  they  come,"  said  J\Irs.  Erlton,  passing  on 
rapidly  to  escape  from  the  loud  remarks  of  two  of  her 
countrywomen  who  were  discussing  Jewun  Bukht's 
jewels  as  if  the  wearer,  standing  within  a  yard  of  them, 
was  a  lay  figure:  as  indeed  he  was  to  them. 

"Why  does  anyone  come?"  asked  Captain  More- 
combe  airily,  as  he  followed  her  across  the  terrace,  and, 
leaning  over  the  balustrade,  looked  down  at  the  sand- 
banks and  streams  below.  "  So  far  as  I  am  concerned," 
he  went  on,  "  the  reason  is  palpable.  I  came  because  I 
knew  you  would  be  here,  and  I  like  to  see  my  friends." 

He  was  in  reality  watching  her  to  see  how  she  received 
the  remark,  and  something  in  her  face  made  him  con- 
tinue casually.  "  And  there,  I  should  say,  are  some 
other  people  who  have  similar  excuse  for  temporary 
aberration."  He  pointed  to  the  figures  of  a  man  and 
woman  who  were  strolling  toward  the  Koodsia  along  a 
narrow  path  which  curved  below  the  embanking  wall, 
and  his  sentence  ended  abruptly.  He  turned  hastily  to 
lean  his  back  on  the  parapet  and  look  parkward,  adding 
lightly,  "And  there  are  two  more,  and  two  more!  In 
fact  most  people  really  come  to  see  other  people." 

But  Kate  Erlton  was  proud.     She  would  have  no  eva- 


IN    THE   RESIDENCY.  151 

sion,  and  the  past  three  months  since  Christmas  Day  had 
forced  her  to  accept  facts. 

"  It  is  my  husband  and  Mrs.  Gissing,"  she  said,  look- 
ing toward  the  strolHng  figures.  "  I  suppose  he  is  see- 
ing her  home.  1  heard  lier  say  not  long  ago  she  was 
tired.     She  hasn't  been  looking  strong  lately." 

The  indifference,  being  slightly  overdone,  annoyed 
her  companion.  No  man  likes  having  the  door  slammed 
in  his  sympathetic  face.  "  She  is  looking  extremely 
pretty,  though,'  he  replied  coolly.  "  It  softens  her  some- 
how.    Don't  you  agree  with  me?" 

There  was  a  pause  ere  Kate  Erlton  replied;  and  then 
her  eyes  had  found  the  far  horizon  instead  of  those  lessen- 
ing figures. 

"  I  do.  I  think  she  looks  a  better  woman  than  she 
did — somehow."  She  spoke  half  to  herself  with  a  sort 
of  dull  wonder  in  her  voice.  But  the  keenness  of  his, 
shown  in  his  look  at  her,  roused  her  reserve  instantly. 
To  change  the  subject  would  be  futile;  she  had  gone  too 
far  to  make  that  possible  if  he  wished  otherwise,  without 
that  palpable  refusal  which  would  in  itself  be  confession. 
So  she  asked  him  promptly  if  he  would  mind  bringing 
her  a  glass  of  iced  water,  cup,  anything,  since  she  was 
thirsty  after  the  strawberries;  and  when  he  went  ofif  re- 
luctantly, took  her  retreat  leaning  over  the  balustrade, 
looking  out  to  the  eastern  plains  beyond  the  river;  to 
that  far  horizon  which  in  its  level  edge  looked  as  if  all  or 
nothing  might  lie  behind  it.  A  new  world,  or  a  great 
gulf! 

Three  months!  Three  months  since  she  had  given  up 
that  chance,  such  as  it  was,  on  Christmas  Day.  And 
now  her  husband  was  honestly,  truly  in  love  with  Alice 
Gissing.  Would  he  have  been  as  honestly,  as  truly  in 
love  with  her  if — if  she  could  have  forgotten?  Had  this 
really  been  his  chance,  and  hers?  Had  it  come,  some- 
how? She  did  not  attempt  to  deny  facts;  she  was  too 
proud  for  that.  It  seemed  incredible,  almost  impossible; 
but  this  was  no  Lucknow  flirtation,  no  mere  sensual 
liaison  on  her  husband's  part.  He  was  in  love.  The 
love  which  she  called  real  love,  which,  given  to  her, 
would,  she  admitted,  have  raised  her  life  above  the  mere 


152  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

compromise  from  which  she  had  shrunk.  But  he  had 
never  given  it  to  her.  Never.  Not  even  in  those  first 
days.  And  now,  if  that  chance  had  gone,  w'hat  re- 
mained? What  disgrace  might  not  the  future  hold  for 
her  boy's  father  with  a  man  hke  Mr.  Gissing,  in  a  coun- 
try where  the  steahng  of  a  man's  wife  from  him  w-as  a 
criminal  offense?  Thank  Heaven!  Herbert  was  too 
selfish  to  risk — she  turned  and  fled,  as  it  were,  from  that 
cause  for  gratitude  to  find  refuge  in  the  certainty  that 
Alice  Gissing,  at  least,  would  not  lose  her  head.  But  the 
chance!  the  chance  was  gone. 

"  Miffes  Erlton,"  came  a  little  silvery  voice  behind  her. 
"Oh,  Mififes  Erlton!  He's  giv-ded  me  suts  a  boo'ful 
birdie." 

It  was  Sonny  clasping  a  quail  in  both  dimpled  hands. 
His  bearer  was  salaaming  in  rather  a  deprecatory  man- 
ner, and  a  few  paces  ofT,  strolling  back  from  the  stables 
with  a  couple  of  young  bloods  like  himself,  was  Prince 
Abool-Bukr.  All  three  with  a  furtive  eye  for  Kate  Erl- 
ton's  face  and  figure. 

"  He  giv-ded  it  to  me  be-tos  it  tumbled  down,  and 
everybody  laughed,"  went  on  Sonny  confidently.  "  And 
so  I  is  do-ing  to  comfit  birdie,  and  'ove  it." 

"  Sonny,"  exclaimed  Kate,  suddenly  aghast,  "  what's 
that  on  your  frock — down  your  arm?  " 

It  was  blood.  Red,  fresh-spilled  blood!  She  was  on 
her  knees  beside  him  in  instant  coaxing,  comforting,  un- 
clasping his  hands  to  see  where  they  were  hurt.  The  bird 
fell  from  them  fluttering  feebly,  leaving  them  all  scarlet- 
stained  with  its  heart's  blood,  making  Sonny  shriek  at 
the  sight,  and  hide  face  and  hands  in  her  muslin  skirts. 
She  stood  up  again,  her  cheeks  ablaze  with  anger,  and 
turned  on  the  servant. 

"  How  dare  you!  How  dare  you  give  it  to  the  chota- 
sahib?     How  dare  you!  " 

The  man  muttered  something  in  broken  English  and 
Hindustani  about  a  quail  fight,  and  not  knowing  the  bird 
was  dying  when  the  Mirza  gave  it;  accompanying  his 
excuses  with  glances  of  appeal  to  Prince  Abool-Bukr, 
who,  at  Sonny's  outburst,  had  paused  close  by.  Kate's 
eyes,  following  the  bearer's,  met  those  bright,  dark,  cruel 


IN    THE   RESIDENCY.  153 

ones,  and  her  wrath  blazed  out  again.  Her  Hindustani, 
however,  being  unequal  to  a  lecture  on  cruelty  to  ani- 
mals, she  had  to  be  content  with  looks.  The  Prince  re- 
turned them  with  an  indifferent  smile  for  a  moment,  then 
with  a  half-impatient  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  he  stepped 
forward,  lifted  the  dying  quail  gingerly  between  finger 
and  thumb,  and  flung  it  over  the  parapet  into  the  river. 

"'Ah  kluifiii  piydrcc  tiissuUi  riikliiyc!  "  (Now  is  it  fin- 
ished, dear  one;  take  comfort!)  he  said  consolingly, 
looking  at  Sonny's  golden  curls.  The  liquid  Urdu  was 
sheer  gibberish  to  the  woman,  but  the  child  turning  his 
head  half-doubtfuUy,  half-reassured,  Abool-Bukr's  face 
softened  instantly. 

'"Mujhe  niiiadf.  Ahiiiia  sub  ke  hiikk  hai "  (Excuse  me. 
Death  is  the  right  of  all),  he  said  with  a  graceful  salaam 
as  he  passed  on. 

So  the  water  Captain  Morecombe  brought  back  was 
used  for  a  different  purpose  than  quenching  pretended 
thirst;  and  the  bringer,  hearing  Kate's  version  of  the 
story,  hastily  asked  Sonny — who  by  this  time  was  hold 
ing  out  chubby  hands  cheerfully  to  be  dried  and  prattling 
of  dirty  birdies — what  the  Prince  had  said.  The  child, 
puzzled  for  an  instant,  smiled  broadly. 

"  He  said  it  was  deaded  all  light." 

Kate  shivered.  The  incident  had  touched  her  on  the 
nerves,  taking  the  color  from  the  flowers,  the  brightness 
from  the  sunshine. 

"  Come  and  have  a  turn,"  suggested  Captain  IMore- 
combe;  "  they  have  began  dancing  in  the  saloon.  It  will 
change  the  subject." 

But  as  she  took  his  arm,  she  said  in  rather  a  tremulous 
voice,  "  There  is  such  a  thing  as  a  Dance  of  Death, 
though." 

"  My  dear  lady,"  he  laughed,  "  it  is  a  most  excellent 
pastime.  And  one  can  dance  anywdiere,  on  the  edge  of 
a  volcano  even,  if  one  doesn't  smell  brimstone." 

Kate,  however,  found  otherwise,  and  when  the  waltz 
was  over,  announced  her  intention  of  going  off  to  take 
Sonny  home,  and  see  Mrs.  Seymour  and  the  new  baby. 
But  in  this  her  cavalier  saw  difificulties.  The  mare  was 
evidently  too  fresh  for  a  lady  to  drive,  and  Major  Erlton, 


154  ON   THE  FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

returning,  might  need  the  dog-cart.  It  would  be  far 
better  for  him  to  drive  her  in  his,  so  far,  and  afterward  let 
the  Major  know  he  had  to  call  for  her.  Kate  assented 
wearily.  Such  arrangements  were  part  of  the  detail  of 
life,  with  a  woman  neglected  as  she  was  by  her  husband. 
She  could  not  deliberately  avoid  them,  and  yet  keep  the 
unconsciousness  her  pride  claimed.  How  could  she, 
when  there  were  twenty  men  in  society  to  one  woman? 
Twenty — for  the  most  part — gentlemen,  quite  capable  of 
gauging  a  woman's  character.  So  Captain  Morecombe 
drove  her  to  the  Seymour's  house  on  the  city  wall  by  the 
Water  Bastion.  There  were  several  houses  there,  set  so 
close  to  the  rampart  that  there  was  barely  room  for  a 
paved  pathway  between  their  back  verandas  and  the 
battlement.  In  front  of  them  lay  a  metaled  road  and 
shady  gardens;  and  at  the  end  of  this  road  stood  a  small 
bungalow  toward  which  Kate  Erlton  looked  involun- 
tarily. There  was  a  horse  waiting  outside  it.  It  was 
her  husband's  charger.  He  must  have  arranged  to 
have  it  sent  down,  arranged,  as  it  were,  to  leave  her  in 
the  lurch,  and  a  sudden  flash  of  resentment  made  her 
say,  as  she  got  down  at  the  Seymours'  house,  "  You  had 
better  call  for  me  in  half  an  hour;  that  will  be  best." 

Captain  Morecombe  flushed  with  sheer  pleasure. 
Kate  was  not  often  so  encouraging.  But  as  he  drove 
round  to  wait  for  her  at  a  friend's  house,  close  to  the 
Delhi  Gazette  press,  he,  too,  noticed  the  Major's  charger, 
and  swore  under  his  breath.  Before  God  it  was  too  bad! 
But  if  ever  there  were  signs  of  a  coming  smash  they  were 
to  be  seen  here.  Erlton,  after  years  of  scandal,  had  lost 
his  head — it  seemed  incredible,  but  there  was  a  Fate  in 
such  things  from  which  mortal  man  could  not  escape. 

And  as  he  told  himself  this  tale  of  Fate — the  man's 
excuse  for  the  inexcusable  which  will  pass  current  gayly 
until  women  combine  in  refusing  to  accept  it  for  them- 
selves— another  man,  at  the  back  of  the  little  house  past 
which  he  was  driving,  was  telling  it  to  himself  also.  For 
a  great  silence  had  fallen  between  Major  Erlton  and  Alice 
Gissing  after  she  had  told  him  something,  to  hear  which 
he  had  arranged  to  come  home  with  her  for  a  quiet  talk. 
And,  in  the  silence,  the  hollow  note  of  the  wooden  bells 


IN   THE   RESIDENCY.  I55 

Upon  the  necks  of  the  cattle  grazing  below  the  battle- 
ment, over  which  he  leaned,  seemed  to  count  the  slow 
minutes.  Quaintest,  dumbest  of  all  sounds,  lacking- 
vibration  utterly,  yet  mellow,  musical,  to  the  fanciful  ear, 
with  something  of  the  hopeful  persistency  of  Time  in  its 
recurring  beat. 

Alice  Gissing  was  not  a  fanciful  woman,  but  as  she  lay 
back  in  her  long  cane  chair,  her  face  hidden  in  its  pillows 
as  if  to  shut  out  something  unwelcome,  her  foot  kept 
time  to  the  persistency  on  the  pavement,  till,  suddenly, 
she  sat  up  and  faced  round  on  her  silent  companion. 

"  Well,"  she  said  impatiently.  "  Well!  what  have  you 
got  to  say?  " 

"  I — I  was  thinking,"  he  began  helplessly,  when  she 
interrupted  him. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  thinking?  That  won't  alter  facts. 
As  I  told  you,  Gissing  will  be  back  in  a  month  or  so; 
and  then  we  must  decide." 

Major  Erlton  turned  quickly.  "  You  can't  go  back  to 
him,  Allie;  you  weren't  considering  that,  surely.  You 
can't — not — not  now."  His  voice  softened  over  the  last 
words;  he  turned  away  abruptly.  His  face  was  hidden 
from  her  so. 

She  looked  toward  him  strangely  for  a  second,  cov- 
ered her  face  with  her  hands  for  another,  then,  changing 
the  very  import  of  the  action,  used  them  to  brush  the  hair 
back  from  her  temples;  so,  clasping  them  behind  her 
head,  leaned  back  on  the  pillows,  and  looked  toward  him 
again.  There  was  a  reckless  defiance  in  her  attitude  and 
expression,  but  her  words  did  not  match  it. 

"  I  suppose  I  can't,"  she  said  drearily,  "  and  I  suppose 
you  wouldn't  let  me  go  away  by  myself  either." 

Once  more  he  turned.  "Go!"  he  echoed  quickly. 
"  Where  would  you  go?  " 

"Somewhere!" — the  recklessness  had  invaded  her 
voice  now — "Anywhere!  Wherever  women  do  go  in 
these  cases.     To  the  devil,  perhaps." 

He  gave  a  queer  kind  of  laugh ;  this  spirited  efifrontery 
had  always  roused  his  admiration.  "  I  dare  say,"  he  re- 
plied, "  for  I'm  not  a  saint,  and  you  have  got  to  come 
with  me,  Allie.     You  must.     I  shall  send  in  my  papers, 


156  ON    THE   FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

and  by  and  by,  when  all  the  fuss  is  over  " — here  he  gave 
a  fierce  sigh — "  for  I  expect  Gissing  will  make  a  fuss, 
we  can  get  married  and  live  happily  ever  after." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  You'll  regret  it.  I  don't  see 
how  you  can  help  regretting  it!  " 

He  came  over  to  her,  and  laid  his  big  broad  hand  very 
tenderly  on  her  curly  hair.  "  No!  I  shan't,  Allie,"  he 
replied  in  a  low,  husky  voice,  "  I  shan't,  indeed.  I  never 
was  a  good  hand  at  sentiment  and  that  sort,  but  I  love 
you  dearly — dearly.  All  the  more — for  this  that  you've 
told  me.  I'd  do  anything  for  you,  Allie.  Keep  straight 
as  a  die,  dear,  if  you  wanted  it.  And  I  wasn't  regretting 
— it — just  now.     I  was  only  thinking  how  strange " 

"Strange!"  she  interrupted,  almost  fiercely.  "If  it 
is  strange  to  you,  what  must  it  be  to  me?  My  God!  I 
wonder  if  any  man  will  ever  understand  what  this  means 
to  a  woman?  All  the  rest  seems  to  pass  her  by,  to  leave 
no  mark — I — I — never  cared.  But  this!  Herbert!  I 
feel  sometimes  as  if  I  were  Claude's  wife  again — Claude's 
wife,  so  full  of  hopes  and  fears.  And  I  dream  of  him  too. 
I  haven't  dreamed  of  him  for  years,  and  I  learned  to  hate 
him  before  he  died,  you  know.  I  have  gone  back  to  that 
old  time,  and  nothing  seems  different.  Nothing  at  all! 
Isn't  that  strange?  And  the  old  Mai — she  has  gone 
back,  too — sees  no  difference  either.  She  treats  me  just 
as  she  did  in  those  old,  old  days.  She  fusses  round,  and 
cockers  me  up,  and  talks  about  it.  There!  she  is  com- 
ing now  with  smelling-salts  or  sal-volatile  or  something! 
Oh !  Go  away,  do,  Mai,  I  don't  want  anything  except  to 
be  left  alone!  " 

But  the  old  ayah's  untutored  instincts  were  not  to  be 
so  easily  smothered.  Her  wrinkled  face  beamed  as  she 
insisted  on  changing  the  dainty  laced  shoes  for  easy 
slippers,  and  tucked  another  pillow  into  the  chair.  The 
mem  was  tired,  she  told  the  Major  with  a  respectful 
salaam,  after  her  long  walk;  the  faint  resentment  in  her 
tone  being  entirely  for  the  latter  fact. 

"  You  see,  don't  you?  "  said  Mrs.  Gissing,  with  bright 
reckless  eyes,  when  they  were  alone  once  more.  "  She 
doesn't  mind.  She  has  forgotten  all  the  years  between, 
forgotten  everything.     And  I — I  don't  know  why — but 


IN    THE  RESIDENCY.  I57 

there!  What  is  the  use  of  asking  questions?  I  never 
can  answer  even  for  myself.  So  we  had  better  leave  it 
alone  for  the  present.  We  needn't  settle  yet  a  while,  and 
there  is  always  a  chance  of  something  happening." 

"  But  you  said  your  husband  would  be  back "  he 

began. 

"  In  a  month — but  we  may  all  be  dead  and  buried  in  a 
month,"  she  interrupted.  "  I  only  told  you  now,  because 
I  thought  you  ought  to  know  soon,  so  as  not  to  be 
hurried  at  the  last.  It  means  a  lot,  you  see,  for  a  man 
to  give  up  his  profession  for  a  woman;  and  it  isn't  like 

England,  you  know "    She  paused,  then  continued  in 

an  odd  half-anxious  voice,  her  eyes  fixed  on  him  inquir- 
ingly as  he  stood  beside  her.  "  I  shouldn't  be  angry, 
remember,  Herbert,  if — if  you  didn't." 

"  Allie!  What  do  you  mean?  Do  you  mean  that  you 
don't  care?"  His  tone  was  full  of  pained  surprise,  his 
hand  scarcely  a  willing  agent  as  she  drew  it  close  to 
caress  it  with  her  cheek. 

"  Care?  of  course  I  care.  You  are  very  good  to  me, 
Herbert,  far  nicer  to  me  than  you  are  to  other  people. 
And  I  can't  say  '  no  '  if  you  decide  on  giving  up  for  me. 
I  cant  now.  I  see  that.  Only  don't  let  us  be  in  a  hurry. 
As  that  big  fat  man  in  the  tight  satin  trousers  said  to  the 
Resident  to-day,  when  he  was  asked  what  the  people 
in  the  city  thought  of  the  fuss  down  country,  '  DcM 
dnr  ust'  " 

'^  Delhi  dur  ust?  What  the  devil  does  that  mean?" 
asked  the  Major,  his  brief  doubt  soothed  by  the  touch  of 
her  soft  cheek.  "  You  are  such  a  clever  little  cat,  Allie! 
You  know  a  deuced  sight  more  than  I  do.  How  you 
pick  it  up  I  can't  think." 

She  gave  one  of  her  inconsequent  laughs.  ''  Don't 
have  so  many  men  anxious  to  explain  things  to  you  as 
I  have,  I  expect,  sir!  But  if  you  ever  spoke  to  a  native 
here — which  you  don't — you'd  know  that.  Even  my  old 
Mai  says  it — they  all  say  it  when  they  don't  want  to  tell 
the  truth,  or  be  hurried,  and  that  is  generally.  '  Delhi 
is  far,'  they  say.  Dr.  Macintyre  translates  it  as  '  It's  a 
far  cry  to  Lochawe  ';  but  I  don't  understand  that;  for  it 
was  an  old  King  of  Delhi  who  said  it  first.     People  came 


158  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

and  told  him  an  enemy  had  crossed  his  border.  '  Delhi 
dur  list,'  says  he.  Can't  you  see  him,  Herbert?  An  old 
Turk  of  a  things  with  those  tight  satin  trousers!  Then 
they  told  him  the  enemy  was  in  sight.  '  Delhi  dur  ust,' 
said  he.     And  he  said  it  when  they  were  at  the  gate — he 

said  it  when  their  swords "  the  dramatic  instinct  in 

her  was  strong,  and  roused  her  into  springing  to  her 
feet  and  mimicking  the  thrust.     'Delhi  dur  ust.' "' 

Her  gay  mocking  voice  rang  loud.  Then  she  laid  her 
hand  lightly  on  his  arm.  "  Let  us  say  it  too,  dear,"  she 
said  almost  sharply.  "  I  won't  think — yet.  '  Delhi  dur 
ust:  " 

The  memory  of  the  phrase  went  with  him  when  he  had 
said  good-by,  and  was  pacing  his  charger  toward  the 
Post  Office.  But  it  only  convinced  him  that  the  Delhi 
of  his  decision  was  reached;  he  would  chuck  everything 
for  Allie. 

It  wa.i  by  this  time  growing  dusk,  but  he  could  see  two 
figures  standing  in  the  veranda  of  the  Press  Office,  and 
one  of  them  called  him  by  name.  He  turned  in  at  the 
gate  to  find  Captain  Morecombe  reading  a  proof-sheet 
by  the  light  of  a  swinging  lamp;  for  Jim  Douglas  drew 
back  into  unrecognizable  shadow  as  he  approached.  He 
had  purposely  kept  out  of  Major  Erlton's  way  during  his 
occasional  returns  to  Delhi,  and  as  he  stepped  back  now 
he  asked  himself  if  he  hated  the  big  man  most  for  his 
own  sake,  or  for  Kate's,  or  for  that  other  little  woman's. 
Not  that  it  mattered  a  jot,  since  he  hated  him  cordially 
on  all  three  scores. 

"  Bad  news  from  Barrackpore,  Erlton,"  said  the  Cap- 
tain, "  and  as  I  have  to  drive  Mrs.  Erlton  home  I  thought 
you  might  take  it  round  to  the  Brigadier's.  At  least  if 
you  have  no  objection,  Douglas?  " 

"  None.  The  telegram  is  all  through  the  bazaar  by 
now.     You  can't  help  it  if  you  employ  natives." 

"  '  Through  the  medium  of  a  private  telegram,'  "  read 
Captain  Morecombe,  "  '  the  following  startling  news  has 
reached  our  office.  On  Sunday  (the  29th  of  March) 
about  4.30  p.  M.,  a  Brahmin  sepoy  of  the  34th  N.  I.' — 
that's  the  missionary  fellow's  regiment,  of  course — 
'  went  amuck,  and  rushing  to  the  quarter-guard  with  his 


tN   THE   RESIDENCY.  159 

musket,  ordered  the  bugler  to  sound  the  assembly  to  all 
who  desired  to  keep  the  faith  of  their  fathers.  The 
guard,  ordered  to  arrest  him,  refused.  The  whole  regi- 
ment being,  it  is  said,  in  alarm  at  the  arrival  that  morn- 
ing of  the  first  detachment  of  British  troops,  detailed  to 
keep  order  during  the  approaching  disbandment  of  the 
19th  for  mutiny;  rumor  having  it  that  all  sepoys  then 
refusing  to  become  Christians  would  be  shot  down  at 
once.  The  mutineer,  who  had  been  drinking  hemp, 
actually  fired  at  Sergeant-major  Hewson,  providentially 
missing  him;  subsequently  he  fired  at  the  Adjutant,  who, 
after  a  hand-to-hand  scuffle  with  the  madman,  in  which 
Hewson  joined,  only  escaped  with  his  life  through  the 
aid  of  a  faithful  Mohammedan  orderly.  Until,  and,  in- 
deed, after  Colonel  Wheler  the  Commandant  arrived  on 
the  parade  ground,  the  mutineer  marched  up  and  down 
in  front  of  the  guard,  flourishing  his  musket  and  calling 
for  his  comrades  to  join  him.  The  Colonel  therefore 
ordered  the  guard  to  advance  and  shoot  the  man  down. 
The  men  made  show  of  obedience,  but  after  a  few  steps 
they  refused  to  go  on,  unless  accompanied  by  a  British 
officer.  On  this,  Colonel  Wheler,  considering  the  risk 
needless  with  an  unreliable  guard  already  half-mutinous, 
rode  ofif  to  report  his  failure  to  the  Brigadier,  who  had 
halted  on  the  further  side  of  the  parade  ground.  At  this 
juncture  (about  5.30  p.  m.)  matters'  looked  most  serious. 
The  43d  X.  I.  had  turned  out,  and  were  barely  restrained 
from  rushing  their  bells  of  arms  by  the  entreaties  of  their 
native  officers.  The  34th,  beyond  control  altogether, 
were  watching  the  mutineer's  unchecked  defiance  with 
growing  sympathy.  Fortunately  at  this  moment  General 
Hearsey,  commanding  the  Division,  rode  up,  followed 
by  his  two  sons  as  aides.  Hearing  what  had  occurred 
from  the  group  of  officers  awaiting  further  developments, 
he  galloped  over  to  the  guard,  ordered  them  to  follow 
him,  and  made  straight  for  the  mutineer;  shouting  back, 

"  D n  his  musket,  sir!  "  to  an  officer  who  warned 

him  it  was  loaded.  But  seeing  the  man  kneel  to  take 
aim  he  called  to  his  son,  "  If  I  fall,  John,  rush  in  and  put 
him  to  death  somehow."  The  precaution  was,  provi- 
dentially, unnecessary,  for  the  mutineer,  seeing  the  re- 


i6o  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

maining  officers  join  in  this  resolute  advance,  turned  his 
musket  on  himselt.  He  is  not  expected  to  Hve.  Adju- 
tant Uaugh,  a  most  promising  young  othcer,  is,  we 
regret  to  say,  dangerously  wounded.'  " 

■  ireacherous  biack  devils!  I'd  shoot  'em  down  like 
dogs — tile  lot  of  them,"  said  Major  Erlton  savagely. 
He  Had  slipped  from  his  horse  and  now  stood  in  the 
veranda  ovenookmg  the  proof,  his  back  to  Jnn  Douglas. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  closer  sight  of  his  enemy's  face  winch 
roused  the  latter's  temper.  Anyhow  he  broke  into  the 
conversation  with  that  nameless  challenge  in  his  voice 
which  makes  a  third  person  nervous. 

"  It  is  a  pity  you  were  not  at  Barrackpore.  They  seem 
to  have  been  in  need  of  a  good  pot-shot — even  of  an 
officer  to  be  potted  at — till  Hearsey  came  to  the  front." 

Captain  Morecombe  turned  quickly  to  put  up  his  sword 
as  it  were.  "  By  the  way,  Erlton,"  he  said  hastily,  "  I 
don't  think  you  know  Douglas,  though  you  tried  to  see 
him  at  Nujjufghur  after  he  saved  Airs.  Gissing  from 
that  snake." 

But  Jim  Douglas'  temper  grew,  partly  at  his  own 
fatuity  in  risking  the  now  inevitable  encounter;  and  he 
had  a  vile,  uncontrollable  temper  when  he  was  in  the 
wrong. 

"  Major  Erlton  and  I  have  met  before,"  he  interrupted, 
turning  to  go;  "but  I  doubt  if  he  will  recognize  me. 
Possibly  his  horse  may." 

He  paused  as  he  spoke  before  the  Arab  which  stood 
waiting.  It  whinnied  instantly,  stretching  its  head  to- 
ward its  old  master.  Major  Erlton  muttered  a  startled 
exclamation,  but  regained  his  self-possession  instantly. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon — Mr. — er — Douglas,  I  think  you 
said,  Morecombe;  but  I  did  not  recognize  you." 

The  pause  was  aggressive  to  the  last  degree. 

"  Under  that  name,  you  mean,"  finished  Jim  Douglas, 
white  with  anger  at  being  so  obviously  at  a  disadvantage. 
"  The  fact  is.  Captain  Morecombe,  that  as  the  late  King 
of  Oude's  trainer  I  called  myself  James  Greyman.  I  sold 
that  Arab  to  Major  Erlton  under  that  name,  and  under — 
well — rather  peculiar  circumstances.  I  am  quite  ready 
to  tell  them  if  Major  Erlton  thinks  tliem  likely  to  interest 
the  general  public." 


m   THE  RESIDENCY.  i6i 

His  eyes  met  his  enemy's,  fiercely  getting  back  now 
full  measure  of  sheer,  wild,  vicious  temper.  Everything' 
else  had  gone  to  the  winds,  and  they  would  have  been  at 
each  other's  throats  gladly;  scarcely  remembering  the 
cause  of  quarrel,  and  forgetting  it  utterly  with  the  first 
grip,  as  men  will  do  to  the  end  of  time. 

Then  the  Alajor,  being  less  secure  of  his  ground  since 
fighting  was  out  of  the  question,  turned  on  his  heel. 
"  So  far  as  I'm  concerned,"  he  said,  "  the  explanation  is 
sufficient.  Give  the  devil  his  due  and  every  man  his 
chance." 

The  innuendo  was  again  unmistakable;  but  the  words 
reminded  Jim  Douglas  of  an  almost-forgotten  promise, 
and  he  bit  his  lips  over  the  necessity  for  silence.  But  in 
that — as  he  knew  well — lay  his  only  refuge  from  his  own 
temper;  it  was  silence,  or  speech  to  the  uttermost. 

"  If  you  have  quite  done  with  the  proof.  Captain 
Alorecombe,"  he  said  very  ceremoniously. 

"  Certainly,  certainly.  Thanks  for  letting  me  see  it," 
interrupted  the  Captain,  who  had  been  looking  from  one 
to  the  other  doubtfully,  as  most  men  do  even  when  their 
dearest  friends  are  implicated,  if  the  cause  of  a  quarrel 
is  a  horse.  "  It  is  a  serious  business,"  he  went  on 
hurriedly  to  help  the  diversion.  "  After  all  the  talk  and 
fuss,  this  cutting  down  of  an  officer " 

"  Is  first  blood,"  put  in  Jim  Douglas.  "  There  will  be 
more  spilled  before  long." 

"  Disloyal  scoundrels!  "  growled  ]\Iajor  Erlton  wrath- 
fully.     "  Idiots!     As  if  they  had  a  chance!  " 

"  They  have  none.  That's  the  pity  of  it,"  retorted  his 
adversary  as  he  rode  off  quickly. 

Ay!  that  was  the  pity  of  it!  The  pity  of  blood  to  be 
spilled  needlessly.  The  thought  made  him  slacken  speed, 
as  if  he  were  on  the  threshold  of  a  graveyard ;  though  he 
could  not  foresee  the  blood  to  be  spilled  so  wantonly  in 
that  ver\f  garden-set  angle  of  the  city,  so  full  now  of  the 
scent  of  flowers,  the  sounds  of  security.  From  far  came 
Ihe  subdued  hum  which  rises  from  a  city  in  which  there 
is  no  wheeled  traffic,  no  roar  of  machinery;  only  the  feet 
of  men,  their  tears,  their  laughter,  to  assail  the  irrespon- 
sive air.     Nearer,  among  the  scattered  houses  hidden  bv 


1 62  O.V   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

trees,  rose  children's  voices  playing  about  the  servants' 
quarters.  Across  the  now  empty  playground  of  the  Col- 
lege the  outlines  of  the  church  showed  faintly  among  the 
fret  of  branches  upon  the  dull  red  sky,  which  a  cloud- 
less sunset  leaves  behind  it.  And  through  the  open  arch 
of  the  Cashmere  gate,  the  great  globe  of  the  full  moon 
grew  slowly  from  the  ruddy  earth-haze,  then  loud  and 
clear  came  the  chime  of  seven  from  the  mainguard  gong, 
the  rattle  of  arms  dying  into  silence  again.  The  peace 
of  it  all  seemed  unassailable,  the  security  unending. 

"  Delhi  dur  tist!  " 

The  words  were  called  across  the  road  in  a  woman's 
voice,  making  him  turn  to  see  a  shadowy  white  figure 
outlined  against  the  dark  arches  of  a  veranda  close  upon 
the  road.  He  reined  up  his  horse  almost  involuntarily,  re- 
membering as  he  did  so  that  this  was  Mrs.  Gissing's  house. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon "  he  began. 

"  I  beg  yours,"  came  the  instant  reply.  "  I  mistook 
you  for  a  friend.     Good-night!  " 

"  Good-night!  " 

As  he  paced  his  horse  on,  choosing  the  longer  way 
to  Duryagunj,  by  the  narrow  lanes  clinging  to  the  city 
wall,  the  remembrance  of  that  frank  good-night  lingered 
with  him.  For  a  friend!  What  a  name  to  call  Herbert 
Erlton!  Poor  little  soul!  The  thought,  by  its  very 
intolerableness,  drove  him  back  to  the  other,  roused  by 
her  first  words: 

"  Delhi  dur  ttsf." 

True!  Even  this  Delhi  lying  before  his  very  eyes  was 
far  from  him.  How  would  it  take  the  news  which  by 
now,  as  he  had  said,  must  have  filtered  through  the 
bazaar?  He  could  imagine  that.  He  knew,  also,  that 
the  Palace  folk  must  be  all  discussing  the  Resident's  gar- 
den party,  with  a  view  to  their  own  special  aims  and 
objects.  But  what  did  they  think  of  the  outlook  on  the 
future?     Did  they  also  say  DcIJii  dur  nsff 

One  of  them  was  saying  it  on  a  roof  close  by.  It  was 
Abool-Bukr,  who.  on  his  way  home,  had  given  himself 
the  promised  pleasure  of  retailing  his  virtuous  afternoon's 
experiences  to  Newasi ;  for  his  two-months-wed  bride  had 
not  broken  hiiu  of  his  habit  of  coming  to  his  kind  one, 


IN    THE   RESIDENCY.  163 

though  it  had  made  her  graver,  more  dignified.  Still  she 
[)roke  in  on  his  thick  assertion — for  he  had  drunk  brandy 
in  his  efforts  to  be  friendly  with  the  sahibs — that  he  had 
seen  an  Englishwoman  of  her  sort,  with  the  quick  query : 

"  Like  me!     How  so?  " 

He  laughed  mischievously.  "  And  thou  art  not  jeal- 
ous of  my  wife! — or  sayest  thou  art  not!  She  was  but 
like  thee  in  this,  aunt,  that  she  is  of  the  sort  who  would 
have  men  better  than  God  made  them " 

"  No  worse,  thou  meanest,"  she  replied. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Women,  Newasi,  are  as  the 
ague.  A  man  is  ever  being  made  better  or  worse  till  he 
knows  not  if  he  be  well  or  ill.  And  both  ways  God's 
work  is  marred,  a  man  driven  from  his  right  fate " 

"  But  if  a  man  mistakes  his  fate  as  thou  dost,  Abool," 
she  persisted.  "  Sure,  if  Jewun  Bukht  with  that  evil 
woman,  Zeenut " 

He  started  to  his  feet,  thrusting  out  lissome  hands 
wildly,  as  if  to  set  aside  some  thought.  "  Have  a  care, 
Newasi,  have  a  care!  "  he  cried.  "  Talk  not  of  that  arch 
plotter,  arch  dreamer.  Nay!  not  arch  dreamer!  'tis  thou 
that  dreamest  most.  Dreamest  war  without  blood,  men 
without  passion,  me  without  myself!  Was  there  not 
blood  on  my  hands  ere  ever  I  was  born — I,  Abool-Bukr, 
of  the  race  of  Timoor — kings,  tyrants,  by  birth  and  trade? 
The  blood  of  those  who  stood  in'  my  father's  way  and 
my  father's  fathers.     I  tell  thee  there  is  too  much  tinder 

yonder "     He    pointed    to    where,    across    the    flat 

chequers  of  moonlit  roofs,  inlaid  by  the  shadows  of  the 
intersecting  alleys  the  cupolas  of  the  Palace  gates 
rose  upon  the  sky.  "  There  is  too  much  tinder  here," 
he  struck  his  own  breast  fiercely,  "  for  such  fier}' 
thoughts.     Why  canst  not  leave  me  alone,  woman?  " 

She  drew  back  coldly.  "  Do  I  ask  thee  to  come 
thither?     Thy  wife " 

He  gave  a  half-maudlin  laugh.  "  Nay,  I  mean  not 
that!  Sure  thou  art  very  woman,  Newasi!  That  is  why 
I  love  mine  aunt!  That  is  whv  I  come  to  see  her — 
that " 

She  interrupted  him  hastily;  but  her  eyes  grew  soft, 
her  voice  trembled. 


164  0,V    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

"  And  I  do  but  goad  thee  for  thine  own  good,  Abool. 
These   are  strange   times.     Even  the   Mufti   sahib " 

"  Ah!  defend  me  from  his  wise  saws.  I  T<:now  the  ring 
of  them  too  well  as  'tis.  Even  that  I  endure — for  mine 
aunt's  sake.  Though,  by  the  faith,  if  he  and  others  of 
his  kidney  waylay  me  as  they  do  much  longer,  I  will 
have  a  rope  ladder  to  thy  roof  and  scandalize  them  all. 
I  can  stomach  thy  wisdom,  dear;  none  else.  So  tell  them 
that  Abool-Bukr  can  quote  saws  as  well  as  they.  Tell 
them  he  lives  for  Pleasure,  and  Pleasure  lives  in  the  pres- 
ent.    For  the  rest,  "Delhi  ditr  list!     Delhi  dur  list!" 

His  reckless,  unrestrained  voice  rang  out  over  the 
roofs,  and  into  the  alley  below  where  Jim  Douglas  was 
telling  himself,  that  with  his  finger  on  the  very  pulse  of 
the  city  he  had  failed  to  count  its  heart  beats. 

He  looked  up  quickly.  "  Delhi  dur  nst! "  All  the 
world  seemed  to  be  saying  it  that  night;  though  the  first 
blood  had  been  shed  in  the  quarrel. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   YELLOW   FAKIR. 

The  days  passed  to  weeks,  the  weeks  to  a  month,  after 
that  shedding  of  first  blood,  and  no  more  was  spilled, 
save  that  of  the  shedders.  Two  of  them  were  hanged,  the 
regiment  ordered  to  be  disbanded.  For  the  rest,  though 
causeless  fires  broke  out  in  every  cantonment,  though 
a  Sikh  orderly  divulged  to  his  master  some  tale  of  a  con- 
certed rising,  though  the  dread  of  the  greased  cartridge 
grew  to  a  perfect  panic,  even  Jim  Douglas,  with  his  eyes 
wide  open,  was  forced  to  admit  that,  so  far  as  any  chance 
of  action  went,  the  reply  might  still  be  "  Delhi  dur  list." 
The  sky  was  dark  indeed,  there  were  mutterings  on  the 
horizon;  but  he  and  others  remembered  how  often 
in  India,  even  when  rain  is  due,  the  clouds  creep  up  and 
up  day  by  day,  darker  and  more  lowering,  until  the  yel- 
lowing crops  seem  to  grow  greener  in  sheer  hope  of  the 
purple  pall  above  them.  And  then  some  unseen  hand 
juggles  those  portentous  rain-clouds  into  the  daily  dark- 


THE    YELLOW  FAKIR.  165 

ness  of  night,  and  some  dawn  rises  clear  and  dry  to  show, 
in  its  fierce  blaze  of  sunlight,  how  the  yellow  has  gained 
on  the  green. 

So,  day  by  day,  the  impression  grew  among  the 
elect  that  the  storm  signals  would  pass;  that  the  best 
policy  was  to  tide  over  the  next  few  months  somehow. 
In  pursuance  of  which  a  sepoy  wdio  ventured  to  draw 
attention  to  the  state  of  feeling  in  one  regiment  w^as  pub- 
licly told  he  need  expect  no  promotion. 

But  there  were  dissentients  to  this  policy,  apparently. 
Anyhow,  in  the  end  of  April,  Colonel  Carmichael  Smyth, 
commanding  the  3d  Bengal  Cavalry  at  Aleerut,  returned 
from  leave  one  evening,  and  ordered  fifteen  men  from 
each  troop  to  be  picked  out  to  learn  the  use  of  the  new 
cartridge  next  morning,  and  then  went  to  bed  comfort- 
ably. The  men,  through  their  native  officers,  appealed 
to  their  captain  for  delay.  They  were  neither  prepared 
to  take  nor  refuse  the  cartridges,  old  or  new.  No  answer 
was  given  them.  They  marched  to  the  parade  obedi- 
ently at  sunrise,  and  eighty-five  of  the  ninety  men  picked 
from  a  picked  regiment  for  smartness  and  intelligence 
refused  to  take  the  cartridges,  even  from  their  Colonel's 
or  their  Adjutant's  hand.  Their  own  troop  officers  w^ere 
not  present.  They  were  at  once  tried  by  a  court- 
martial  of  native  officers,  some  of  whom  came  from 
the  regiments  at  Delhi;  but  thirty  odd  miles  off  along 
a  broad,  level  driving  road.  They  w'ere  sentenced 
to  ten  years'  penal  servitude,  and  a  parade  of  all  troops 
was  ordered  for  sunrise  on  the  9th  of  May,  to  put  the 
sentence  into  force. 

So  the  night  of  the  8th  found  Jim  Douglas  riding 
over  from  Delhi  in  the  cool  to  see  something  which,  if 
anything  could,  ought  to  turn  mere  talk  into  action.  It 
had  brought  a  new  sound  into  the  air  already.  The 
clang  of  cold  iron  upon  hot,  rising  from  the  regimental 
smithy,  where  the  fetters  for  the  eighty-five  were  being 
forged.  A  cruel  sound  at  best,  proclaiming  the  in- 
dubitable advantage  of  coolness  and  hardness  over  glow 
and  plasticity.  Cruel  indeed  when  the  hardness  and 
insistency  goes  to  the  forging  of  fetters  for  emotion  and 
ignorance. 


t66  on  the  face  of  the  waters. 

Clang!     Clang!     Clang! 

The  sound  rang  out  into  the  hot  airless  night,  rang 
out  into  the  gusty  dawn;  for  it  takes  time  to  forge  eighty- 
five  pairs  of  shackles.  Rang  out  to  where  a  mixed  guard 
of  the  nth  and  20th  Regiments  of  Native  Infantry  were 
waiting  round  the  tumbrils  for  the  last  fetter.  The  gray 
of  dawn  showed  the  rest  piled  on  the  tumbrils,  showed 
two  English  ofificers  on  horseback  talking  to  each  other 
a  little  way  off,  showed  the  faces  of  the  guard  dark  and 
lowering  like  the  dawn  itself. 

"  Loh^,  sergeant  jeel  there  is  the  last,"  said  the  master- 
armorer  cheerfully.     His  task  was  done,  at  any  rate. 

Soma  took  it  from  him  silently,  and  fiung  it  on  the 
others  almost  fiercely;  it  settled  among  them  w^ith  a 
clank.  His  regiment,  the  nth,  had  but  newly  come  to 
Meerut,  and  therefore  had  as  yet  no  ties  of  personal  com- 
radeship with  the  eighty-five,  but  fetters  for  any  sepoys 
were  enough  to  make  the  pulse  beat  full  and  heavy. 

"The  last,  thank  Heaven!"  said  the  Captain,  giving 
his  bridle  rein  a  jag.  "  All  right  forward,  Jones!  Then 
fall  in,  men.  Quick  march!  We  are  late  enough 
as  it  is." 

The  disciplined  feet  fell  in  without  a  waver;  the  tum- 
brils moved  on  with  a  clank  and  a  creak. 

Quick  march!  Soma's  mind,  fair  reflection  of  the 
minds  of  all  aliout  him,  was  full  of  doubt.  Was  that 
indeed  the  last  fetter,  or  did  Rumor  say  sooth  when  it  told 
of  others  being  secretly  forged?  Who  could  say  in  these 
days,  when  the  Huzoors  themselves  had  taken  to  telling 
lies.  Not  his  Huzoors  as  yet;  his  Colonels  and  Captains 
and  Majors,  even  the  little  sahib,  who  laughed  over  his 
own  mistakes  on  parade,  told  the  truth  still.  But  the 
others  lied.  Lied  about  enlistment,  about  prize-money 
and  leave,  about  those  cartridges.  At  least,  so  the  men 
in  the  20th  said;  the  sergeant  marching  next  to  him  be- 
hind the  tumbril  most  of  all. 

"  'Tis  but  three  weeks  longer,  comrade,"  said  this  man 
suddenly  in  a  low  whisper.  They  were  treading  the  dim, 
deserted  outskirts  of  the  cantonment  bazaar,  and  Soma 
looked  round  nervously  at  the  officers  behind.  Had  they 
heard?     He  frowned  at  the  speaker  and  made  no  reply. 


THE    YELLOW  FAKLR.  1 67 

He  gave  a  deaf  ear,  when  he  could,  to  the  talk  in  the  20th ; 
but  that  was  not  always,  for  its  sepoys  were  a  part  of  the 
Bengal  army.  That  army  which  was  not — as  a  European 
army  is — a  mere  chance  collection  of  men  divided  from 
each  other  in  the  beginning  and  end  of  life,  associated 
loosely  with  each  other  in  its  middle,  and  using  military 
service  as  a  make-shift;  but,  to  a  great  extent,  a  guild, 
following  the  profession  of  arms  by  hereditary  custom 
from  the  cradle  to  the  grave. 

Quick  march!  A  woman,  early  astir,  peered  at  the 
little  procession  through  the  chink  of  a  door,  and  whis- 
pered to  an  unseen  companion  behind.  What  was  she 
saying?  What,  by  implication,  would  other  women,  who 
peeped  virtuously — women  he  knew — say  of  his  present 
occupation?  That  he  was  a  coward  to  be  guarding  his 
comrades'  fetters?  No  doubt;  since  others  with  less 
right  would  say  it  too.  All  the  miserable,  disreputable 
rifif-rafif,  for  instance,  which  had  drifted  in  from  the  neigh- 
borhood to  see  the  show.  The  bazaar  had  been  full  of  it 
these  three  days  past.  Even  the  sweepers,  pariahs,  out- 
castes,  would  snigger  over  the  misfortunes  of  their 
betters — as  those  two  ahead  were  doubtless  sniggering 
already  as  they  drew  aside  from  their  slave's  w^ork  of 
sweeping  the  roadway,  to  let  the  tumbrils  pass.  Drew 
aside  with  mock  deference,  leaving  scantiest  room  for 
the  twice-born  following  them.  So  scant,  indeed,  that 
the  outermost  tip  of  a  reed  broom,  flourished  in  insolent 
salaam,  toviched  the  Rajput's  sleeve.  It  was  the  veriest 
brush,  no  more  than  a  fly's  wing  could  have  given;  buf 
the  half-stifled  cry  from  Soma's  lips  meant  murder — 
nothing  less.  His  disciplined  feet  wavered,  he  gave  a 
furtive  glance  at  hie  companions.  Had  they  seen  the 
insult?     Could  they  use  it  against  him? 

"Eyes  front,  there;  fonvard!  "  came  the  order  from 
behind,  and  he  pulled  himself  together  by  instinct  and 
went  on. 

"  Only  three  weeks  longer,  brother!  "  said  that  voice 
beside  him  meaningly;  and  a  dull  rage  rose  in  Soma's 
heart.  So  it  had  been  seen.  It  might  be  said  of  him. 
Soma,  that  he  had  tamely  submitted  to  a  defiling 
touch.     He  did  not  look  round  at  his  officers  this  time. 


1 68  ON  THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

They  might  hear  if  they  chose,  the  future  might  hold 
what  it  chose.  Mayhap  they  had  seen  the  insult  and 
were  laughing  at  it.  They  were  not  his  Huzoors;  they 
belonged  to  the  man  at  his  side,  who  had  the  right  to 
taunt  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were  discussing  the 
chances  of  their  ponies  in  next  week's  races;  but  Soma, 
lost  in  a  great  wrath,  a  great  fear,  made  it,  inevitably, 
the  topic  of  the  whole  world. 

Hark!  The  bugle  for  the  Rifles  to  form;  they  were  to 
come  to  the  parade  loaded  with  ball  cartridge.  And  that 
rumble  w^as  the  Artillery,  loaded  also,  going  to  take  up 
their  position.  By  and  by  the  Carabineers  would  sweep 
with  a  clatter  and  a  dash  to  form  the  third  side  of  the 
hollow  square,  whereof  the  fourth  was  to  be  a  mass  of 
helpless  dark  faces,  with  the  eighty-five  martyrs  and 
tumbrils  in  the  middle.  Soma  had  seen  it  all  in  general 
orders,  talked  it  over  with  his  dearest  friend,  and  called 
it  tyranny.  And  now  the  tumbrils  clanked  past  a  little 
heap  of  smoldering  ashes,  that  but  the  day  before  had 
been  a  guard-house.  The  lingering  smoke  from  this  last 
work  of  the  incendiary  drifted  northward,  after  the  fet- 
ters, making  one  of  the  officers  cough.  But  he  went  on 
talking  of  his  ponies.  True  type  of  the  race  which  lives 
to  make  mistakes,  dies  to  retrieve  them.     Quick  march! 

Streams  of  spectators  bound  for  the  show  began  to 
overtake  them,  ready  with  comments  on  what  Soma 
guarded.  And  on  the  broad  white  Mall,  dividing  the 
native  half  of  the  cantonments  and  the  town  of  Meerut 
from  the  European  portion,  more  than  one  carriage  with 
a  listless,  white-faced  woman  in  it  dashed  by,  on  its  way 
to  see  the  show.     The  show! 

Quick  march!  Whatever  else  might  be  possible  in 
the  future,  that  was  all  now,  midway  between  the  barracks 
of  'the  Rifles  and  the  Carabineers,  with  the  church — 
mute  symbol  of  the  horror  which,  day  by  day,  month  by 
month,  had  been  closing  in  round  the  people — blocking 
the  way  in  front.  So  they  passed  on  to  the  wide  north- 
ern parade  ground,  with  that  hollow  square  ready; 
three  sides  of  it  threatening  weapons,  the  fourth  of  un- 
armed men,  and  in  the  center  the  eighty-five  picked  men 
of  a  picked  regiment. 

The    knot    of    European    spectators    round    the    flag 


THE    YELLOW  FAKIR.  169 

listened  with  yawns  to  the  stout  General's  exordium. 
The  eighty-five  being  hopelessly,  helplessly  in  the  wrong 
by  military  law,  there  seemed  to  be  no  need  to  insist  on 
the  fact.  And  the  mass  of  dark  faces  standing  within 
range  of  loaded  guns  and  rifles,  within  reach  of  glistening 
sabers,  did  not  listen  at  all.  Not  that  it  mattered,  since 
the  units  in  that  crowd  had  lost  the  power  of  accepting 
facts.  Even  Soma,  standing  to  attention  beside  the  tum- 
brils, only  felt  a  great  sense  of  outrage,  of  wrong,  of  in- 
justice somewhere.  And  there  was  one  Englishman,  at 
least,  rigid  to  attention  also  before  his  disarmed,  dis- 
mounted, yet  loyal  troop,  who  must  have  felt  it  also, 
unless  he  was  more  than  hvmian.  And  this  was  Captain 
Craigie,  who,  when  his  men  appealed  to  him  to  save 
them,  to  delay  this  unnecessary  musketry  parade,  had 
written  in  his  haste  to  the  Adjutant,  "  Go  to  Smyth  at 
once!  Go  to  Smyth!  "  and  Smyth  was  his  Colonel! 
Incredible  lack  of  official  etiquette.  Repeated  hardily, 
moreover.  "  Pray  don't  lose  a  moment,  but  go  to  Smyth 
and  tell  him."  What?  Only  "  that  this  is  a  most  serious 
matter,  and  we  may  have  the  whole  regiment  in  open 
mutiny  in  half  an  hour  if  it  is  not  attended  to."  Only 
that!  So  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  Captain  Craigie  had  the 
official  wigging  for  his  unconventional  appeal  in  his 
pocket  as  he  shared  his  regiment's  disgrace,  to  serve  him 
as  a  warning — or  a  consolation. 

And  now'  the  pompous  monotone  being  ended,  the 
silence,  coming  after  the  clankings,  and  buglings,  and 
trampings  which  had  been  going  on  since  dawn,  was 
almost  oppressive.  The  three  sides  of  steel,  even  the 
fourth  of  faces,  however,  showed  no  sign.  They  stood 
as  stone  while  the  eighty-five  were  stripped  of  their  uni- 
forms. But  there  was  more  to  come.  By  the  General's 
orders  the  leg-irons  were  to  be  riveted  on  one  by  one; 
and  so,  once  more,  the  sound  of  iron  upon  iron  recurred 
monotonously,  making  the  silence  of  the  intervals  still 
more  oppressive.  For  the  prisoners  at  first  seemed 
stunned  by  the  isolation  from  even  their  as  yet  unfettered 
comrades.  But  suddenly  from  a  single  throat  came  that 
cry  for  justice,  which  has  a  claim  to  a  hearing,  at  least, 
in  the  estimation  of  the  people  of  India. 


lyo  OiV    THE   FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

"  Dohai!     Dohai!     Dohai! " 

Soma  gave  a  sort  of  sigh,  and  a  faint  quiver  of  expec- 
tation passed  over  the  sea  of  dark  faces. 

Clang!  Clang!  The  hammers,  going  on  unchecked, 
were  the  only  answer.  Those  three  sides  of  stone  had 
come  to  see  a  thing  done,  and  it  must  be  done;  the  sooner 
the  better.  But  the  riveting  of  eighty-five  pairs  of  leg- 
irons  is  not  to  be  done  in  a  moment;  so  the  cry  grew 
clamorous.  Dohai!  Dohai!  Had  they  not  fought 
faithfully  in  the  past?  Had  they  not  been  deceived? 
Had  they  had  a  fair  chance? 

But  the  hammers  went  on  as  the  sun  climbed  out  of 
the  dust-haze  to  gleam  on  the  sloped  sabers,  glint  on  the 
loaded  guns,  and  send  glittering  streaks  of  light  along 
the  rifles. 

So  the  cry  changed.  Were  their  comrades  cowards  to 
stand  by  and  see  this  tyranny  and  raise  no  finger  of  help? 
Oh !  curses  on  them !  'Tis  they  who  were  degraded,  dis- 
honored. Curses  on  the  Colonel  who  had  forced  them 
to  this!  Curses  on  every  white  face! — curses  on  every 
face  which  stood  by! 

One,  close  to  the  General's  flag,  broke  suddenly  into 
passionate  resentment.  Jim  Douglas  drew  out  his 
watch,  looked  at  it,  and  gathered  his  reins  together. 
"  An  hour  and  forty-five  minutes  already.  I'm  off, 
Ridgeway.     I  can't  stand  this  d d  folly  any  more." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  speak  lower!     If  the  General " 

"  I  don't  care  who  hears  me,"  retorted  Jim  Douglas 
recklessly  as  he  steered  through  the  crowd,  followed  by 

his  friend,  "  I  say  it  is  d d  inconceivable  folly  and 

tyranny.  Come  on,  and  let's  have  a  gallop,  for  God's 
sake,  and  get  rid  of  that  devilish  sound." 

The  echo  of  their  horses'  resounding  hoofs  covered, 
obliterated  it.  The  wind  of  their  own  swiftness  seemed 
to  blow  the  tension  away.  So  after  a  spin  due  north  for 
a  mile  or  two  they  paused  at  the  edge  of  a  field  where  the 
oxen  were  circling  placidly  round  on  the  threshing- 
floors  and  a  group  of  women  were  taking  advantage  of 
the  gustiness  to  winnow.  Their  bare,  brown  arms  glist- 
ened above  the  falling  showers  of  golden  grain,  their 
unabashed  smiling  faces  showed  against  the  clouds  of 
golden  chafif  drifting  behind  them. 


THE    YELLOW  FAKIR.  I?! 

Jim  Douglas  looked  at  them  for  a  moment,  returned 
the  salaam  of  the  men  driving  the  oxen  and  forking  the 
straw,  then  turned  his  horse  toward  the  cantonment 
again. 

"  It  is  nothing  to  them;  that's  one  comfort,"  he  said. 
"  But  they  will  have  to  suffer  for  it  in  the  end,  I  expect. 
Who  will  believe  when  the  time  comes  that  this  " — he 
gave  a  backward  wave  of  his  hand — "  went  on  unwit- 
tingly of  that?  " 

His  companion,  following  his  look  ahead,  to  where,  in 
the  far  distance,  a  faint  cloud  of  dust,  telling  of  many  feet, 
hung  on  the  horizon,  said  suddenly,  as  if  the  sight 
brought  remembrance:  "By  George!  Douglas,  how 
steady  the  sepoys  stood!     I  half  expected  a  row." 

"  Steadier  than  I  should,"  remarked  the  other  grimly. 
"  Well,  I  hope  Smyth  is  satisfied.  To  return  from  leave 
and  drive  your  regiment  into  mutiny  in  twelve  hours  is 
a  record  performance." 

His  hearer,  who  was  a  civilian,  gave  a  deprecating 
cough.  "  That's  a  bit  hard,  surely.  I  happen  to  know 
that  he  heard  while  on  leave  some  story  about  a  con- 
certed rising  later  on.  He  may  have  done  it  purposely, 
to  force  their  hands." 

Jim  Douglas  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Did  he  warn 
you  what  he  was  about  to  do?  Did  he  allow  time  to  pre- 
pare others  for  his  private  mutiny?  ^ly  dear  Ridgeway, 
it  was  put  on  of^cial  record  two  months  ago  that  an 
organized  scheme  for  resistance  existed  in  every  regiment 
between  Calcutta  and  Peshawur;  so  Smyth  might  at  least 
have  consulted  the  colonels  of  the  other  two  regiments 
at  Meerut.  As  it  is,  the  business  has  strained  the  loyalty 
of  the  most  loyal  to  the  uttermost;  and  we  deserve  to 
suffer,  we  do  indeed." 

"  You  don't  mince  matters,  certainly,"  said  the  civilian 
dryly. 

"  \Miy  should  anybody  mince  them?  Wliy  can't  we 
admit  boldly — the  C.-in-C.  did  it  on  the  sly  the  other  day 
— that  the  cartridges  are  suspicious?  that  they  leave  the 
muzzle  covered  with  a  fat,  like  tallow?  Why  don't  we 
admit  it  i\.'as  tallow  at  first.  Why  not,  at  any  rate,  admit 
we  are  in  a  hole,  instead  of  refusing  to  take  the  common 


172  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

precaution  of  having  an  ammunition  wagon  loaded  up 
for  fear  it  should  be  misconstrued  into  alarm?  Is  there' 
no  medium  between  bribing  children  with  lollipops  and 
torturing  them — keeping  them  on  the  strain,  under  fire, 
as  it  w^ere,  for  hours,  watching  their  best  friends  pun- 
ished unjustly?  " 

"Unjustly?" 

"  Yes.  To  their  minds  unjustly.  And  you  know  what 
forcible  injustice  means  to  children — and  these  are  really 
children — simple,  ignorant,  obstinate." 

They  had  come  back  to  cantonments  again  and  were 
rapidly  overtaking  the  now  empty  tumbrils  going  home, 
for  the  parade  was  over.  Further  down  the  road,  raising 
a  cloud  of  dust  from  their  shackled  feet,  the  eighty-five 
were  being  marched  jailward  under  a  native  escort. 

"  Well,"  said  the  civilian  dryly,  "  I  would  give  a  great 
deal  to  know  what  those  simple  babes  really  thought 
of  us." 

"  Hate  us  stock  and  block  for  the  time.  I  should," 
replied  Jim  Douglas.  They  were  passing  the  tumbrils 
at  the  moment,  and  one  of  the  guard,  in  sergeant's  uni- 
form, looked  up  in  joyful  recognition. 

"  Huzoor!     It  is  I,  Soma." 

The  civilian  looked  at  his  companion  oddly  when, 
after  a  minute  or  two  spent  in  answering  Soma's  inquir- 
ies as  to  where  and  how  the  master  was  to  be  found,  Jim 
Douglas  rode  alongside  once  more. 

"  Out  a  bit,  eh?  "  he  said  dryly. 

"  Very  much  out;  but  they  are  a  queer  lot.  Do  you 
remember  the  story  of  the  self-made  American  who 
was  told  his  boast  relieved  the  Almighty  of  a  great 
responsibility?  Well,  he  is  only  responsible  for  one- 
half  of  the  twice-born.  The  other  is  due  to  humanity, 
to  heredity,  what  you  will!  That  is  what  makes  these 
high-caste  men  so  difficult  to  deal  with.  They  are  twice 
born.     Yes!  they  are  a  queer  lot." 

He  repeated  the  remark  with  even  greater  fervor 
twelve  hours  later,  when,  about  midnight,  he  started  on 
his  return  ride  to  Delhi.  For  though  he  had  spent  the 
whole  day  in  listening,  he  had  scarcely  heard  a  word  of 
blame  for  the  scene  which  had  roused  him  to  wrath  that 


THE    YELLOW  FAICLR.  173 

morning.  The  sepoys  had  gone  about  their  duties  as  if 
nothing  had  happened;  and  despite  the  undoubted  pres- 
ence of  a  lot  of  loose  characters  in  the  bazaar,  there  had 
been  no  disturbance.  He  laughed  cynically  to  himself 
at  the  waste  of  a  day  which  would  have  been  better  spent 
in  horse  dealing.  This,  however,  settled  it.  If  this  in- 
tolerable tyranny  failed  to  rouse  action  there  could  be  no 
immediate  danger  ahead.  To  a  big  cantonment  like 
Meerut,  the  biggest  in  Northern  India,  with  two  thousand 
British  troops  in  it,  even  the  prospect  of  a  rising  was  not 
serious;  at  Delhi,  however,  where  there  were  only  native 
troops,  it  might  have  been  different.  But  now  he  felt 
that  a  handful  of  resolute  men  ought  to  be  able  to  hold 
their  own  anywhere  against  such  aimless  invertebrate 
discontent.  He  felt  a  vague  disappointment  that  it 
should  be  so,  that  the  pleasant  cool  of  night  should  be 
so  quiet,  so  peaceful.  They  were  a  poor  lot  who  could 
do  nothing  but  talk! 

As  he  rode  through  the  station  the  mess-houses  were 
still  alight,  and  the  gay  voices  of  the  guests  who  had  been 
dining  at  a  large  bungalow,  bowered  in  gardens,  reached 
his  ears  distinctly. 

"  It's  the  Sabbath  already,"  said  one.  "  Ought  to  be 
in  our  beds!  " 

"  Hooray!  for  a  Europe  morning,"  came  a  more  boyish 
one  breaking  into  a  carol,  "  of  all  the  days  within  the 
week  I  dearly  love " 

"Shut  up,  Fitz!  "  put  in  a  third,  "you'll  wake  the 
General!  " 

"  What's  the  odds?  He  can  sleep  all  day.  I'm  sure 
his  buggy  charger  needs  a  rest." 

"  Do  shut  up,  Fitz!     The  Colonel  will  hear  you." 

"  I  don't  care.  It's  Scriptural.  Thou  and  thy  ox  and 
thy  ass " 

"You  promised  to  come  to  evening  church,  Mr.  Fitz- 
gerald," interrupted  a  reproachful  feminine  voice;  "you 
said  you  would  sing  in  the  choir." 

"Did  I?  Then  I'll  come.  It  will  wake  me  up  for 
dinner;  besides,  I  shall  sit  next  you," 

The  last  words  came  nearer,  softer.  Mr.  Fitzgerald 
was  evidently  riding  home  beside  someone's   carriage. 


174  O.V    rilE  FACE   OF   THE    IVA7ERS. 

Pleasant  and  peaceful  indeed!  that  clank  of  a  sentry, 
here  and  there,  only  giving  a  greater  sense  of  security. 
Not  that  it  was  needed,  for  here,  beyond  cantonments, 
the  houses  of  the  clerks  and  civilians  lay  as  peaceful,  as 
secure.  In  the  veranda  of  one  of  them,  close  to  the 
road,  a  bearer  was  walking  up  and  down  crooning  a 
patient  lullaby  to  the  restless  fair-haired  child  in  his  arms. 

No!  truly  there  could  be  no  fear.  It  was  all  talk! 
He  set  spurs  to  his  horse  and  went  on  through  the  silent 
night  at  a  hand-gallop,  for  he  had  another  beast  await- 
ing him  halfway,  and  he  wished  to  be  in  Delhi  by  dawn. 
There  was  a  row  of  tall  trees  bordering  the  road  on 
either  side,  making  it  dark,  and  through  their  swiftly 
passing  boles  the  level  country  stretched  to  the  paler 
horizon  like  a  sea.  And  as  he  rode,  he  sat  in  judgment 
in  his  thoughts  on  those  dead  levels  and  the  people  who 
lived  in  them. 

Stagnant,  featureless!  A  dead  sea!  A  mere  waste  of 
waters  without  form  or  void!  Not  even  ready  for  a 
spirit  to  move  over  them;  for  if  that  morning's  work 
left  them  apathetic,  the  Moulvie  of  Fyzabad  himself  need 
preach  no  voice  of  God.  For  this,  surely — this  sense  of 
injustice  to  others,  must  be  the  strongest  motive,  the  sur- 
est word  to  conjure  w^ith.  That  dull  dead  beat  of  iron 
upon  the  fetters  of  others, — which  he  still  seemed  to 
hear, — the  surest  call  to  battle. 

He  paused  in  his  thought,  wondering  if  what  he  fancied 
he  heard  was  but  an  echo  from  memory  or  real  sound! 
Real;  undoubtedly.  It  was  the  distant  clang  of  the  iron 
bells  upon  oxen.  That  meant  that  he  must  be  seven  or 
eight  miles  out,  halfway  to  the  next  stage,  so  meeting  the 
usual  stream  of  night  traflfic  toward  Meerut.  He  passed 
two  or  three  strings  of  large,  looming,  half-seen  wains 
without  drawing  bridle,  then  pulled  up  almost  involun- 
tarily to  a  trot  at  the  curiously  even  tread  of  a  drove  of 
iron-shod  oxen,  and  a  low  chanted  song  from  behind  it. 
Bunjarah  folk!  The  rough  voice,  the  familiar  rhythm 
of  the  hoofs,  reminded  him  of  many  a  pleasant  night- 
march  in  their  company. 

"A  good  journey,  brothers!  "  he  called  in  the  dialect. 
The  answer  came  unerringly,  dark  though  it  was. 


THE    YELLOW  FAKIR.  175 

"  The  Lord  keep  the  Huzoor  safe!  " 

It  made  him  smile  as  he  remembered  that  of  course  a 
lone  man  trotting  a  horse  along  a  highroad  at  night  was 
bound  to  be  alien  in  a  country  where  horses  are 
ambled  and  travelers  go  in  twos  and  threes.  So  the 
rough,  broad  faces  would  be  smiling  over  the  surprise 
of  a  sahib  knowing  the  Bunjarah  talk;  unless,  indeed,  it 

happened  to  be The   possibility   of  its   being  the 

tanda  he  knew  had  not  occurred  to  him  before.  He 
pulled  up  and  looked  round.  A  breathless  shadow  was 
at  his  stirrup,  and  he  fancied  he  saw  a  shadow  or  two 
further  behind. 

"  The  Huzoor  has  mistaken  the  road,"  came  Tiddu's 
familiar  creak.     "  Meerut  lies  to  the  north." 

Breathless  as  he  was,  there  was  the  pompous  mystery 
in  his  voice  which  always  prefaced  an  attempt  to  ex- 
tort money.  And  Jim  Douglas,  having  no  further  use 
for  the  old  scoundrel,  did  not  intend  to  give  him  any,  so 
he  simulated  an  utter  lack  of  surprise. 

"  Hello,  Tiddu!  "  he  said.  "  I  had  an  idea  it  might  be 
you.     So  you  recognized  my  voice?" 

The  old  man  laughed.  "  The  Huzoor  is  mighty 
clever.  He  knows  old  Tiddu  has  eyes.  They  saw  the 
Huzoor's  horse — a  bay  W'azeerie  with  a  white  star  none 
too  small,  and  all  the  luck-marks — waiting  at  the  fifteenth 
milestone,  by  Begum-a-bad.  But  the  Huzoor,  being  so 
clever,  is  not  going  to  ride  the  Wazeerie  to-night.  He  is 
going  to  ride  the  Belooch  he  is  on  back  to  Meerut, 
though  the  star  on  her  forehead  is  too  small  for  safety; 
my  thumb  could  cover  it." 

"  It's  a  bit  too  late  to  teach  me  the  luck-marks,  Tiddu," 
said  Jim  Douglas  coolly.  "  You  want  money,  you 
ruffian ;  so  I  suppose  you  have  something  to  sell.  What 
is  it?  If  it  is  worth  anything,  you  can  trust  me  to  pay, 
surely." 

Tiddu  looked  round  furtively.  The  other  shadow, 
Jhungi  or  Bhungi,  or  both,  perhaps — the  memor\^  made 
Jim  Douglas  smile — had  melted  away  into  the  darkness. 
He  and  Tiddu  were  alone.  The  old  man,  even  so, 
reached  up  to  whisper. 

" 'Tis  the  yellow  fakir,  Huzoor!     He  has  come." 


176  OF    THE   FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

"  The  yellow  fakir!  "  echoed  his  hearer;  "  who  the  devil 
is  he?     And  why  shouldn't  he  come,  if  he  likes?" 

Tiddu  paused,  as  if  in  sheer  amaze,  for  a  second. 
"  The  Huzoor  has  not  heard  of  the  yellow  fakir?  The 
dumb  fakir  who  brings  the  speech  that  brings  more  than 
speech.     IVaJi!" 

"  Speech  that  is  more  than  speech,"  echoed  Jim  Doug- 
las angrily,  then  paused  in  his  turn;  the  phrase  reminded 
him,  vaguely,  of  his  past  thoughts. 

Tiddu's  hand  went  out  to  the  Belooch's  rein;  his  voice 
lost  its  creak  and  took  a  soft  sing-song  to  which  the  mare 
seemed  to  come  round  of  her  own  accord. 

"  Yea!  Speech  that  is  more  than  speech,  though  he  is 
dumb.  Whence  he  comes  none  know,  not  even  I,  the 
Many-Faced.  But  I  can  see  him  when  he  comes, 
Huzoor!  The  others,  not  unless  he  wills  to  be  seen.  I 
saw  him  to-night.  He  passed  me  on  a  white  horse  not 
half  an  hour  agone,  going  Meerutward.  Did  not  the 
Huzoor  see  him?  That  is  because  he  has  learned  from 
old  Tiddu  to  make  others  see,  but  not  to  see  himself. 
But  the  old  man  will  teach  him  this  also  if  he  is  in  Meerut 
by  dawn.  If  he  is  there  by  dawn  he  will  see  the  yellow 
fakir  who  brings  the  speech  that  brings  more  than 
speech." 

The  sing-song  ceased;  the  Belooch  was  stepping 
briskly  back  toward  Meerut. 

"  You  infernal  old  humbug!  "  began  Jim  Douglas. 

"  The  Huzoor  does  not  believe,  of  course,"  remarked 
Tiddu,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  creak.  "  But  Meerut 
is  only  eight  miles  ofif.  His  other  horse  can  wait;  and  if 
he  does  not  see  the  yellow  fakir  there  is  no  need  to  open 
the  purse-strings." 

The  Englishman  looked  at  his  half-seen  companion 
admiringly.  He  was  the  most  consummate  scoundrel! 
His  blending  of  mystery  and  purely  commercial  com- 
monplace was  perfect — almost  irresistible.  There  was 
no  reason  wdiy  he  should  go  on;  the  groom,  halfway, 
had  his  usual  orders  to  stay  till  his  master  came.  For 
the  rest,  it  would  be  pleasant  to  renew  the  old  pleasant 
memory — pleasant  even  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with 
Tiddu's  guile,  which  struck  him  afresh  each  time  he  came 
across  it. 


THE    YELLOW  FAKIR.  "i-ll 

He  slipped  from  his  horse  without  a  word,  and  was 
about  to  pull  the  reins  over  her  head  so  as  to  lead  her, 
when  Tiddu  stopped  short. 

"Jhungi  will  take  her  to  the  rest-house,  Huzoor,  or 
Bhungi.  It  will  be  safer  so.  1  have  a  clean  cotton  quilt 
in  the  bundle,  and  the  Huzoor  can  have  my  shoes  and 
rub  his  legs  in  the  dust.     That  will  do  till  dawn." 

He  gave  a  jackal's  cry,  which  was  echoed  from  the 
darkness. 

"  Leave  her  so,  Huzoor!  She  is  safe,"  said  Tiddu; 
and  Jim  Douglas,  as  he  obeyed,  heard  the  mare  whinny 
softly,  as  if  to  a  foal,  as  a  shadow  came  out  of  the  bushes. 
Junghi  or  Bhungi,  no  doubt. 

Five  minutes  after,  with  a  certain  unaccountable  pleas- 
ure, he  found  himself  walking  beside  a  laden  bullock,  one 
arm  resting  on  its  broad  back,  his  feet  keeping  step  with 
the  remittent  clang  of  its  bell.  A  strange  dreamy  com- 
panionship, as  he  knew  of  old.  And  once  more  the  stars 
seemed,  after  a  time,  to  twinkle  in  unison  with  the  bell, 
he  seemed  to  forget  thought,  to  forget  everything  save 
the  peaceful  stillness  around,  and  his  own  unresting 
peace. 

So,  he  and  the  laden  beast  w.ent  on  as  one  living, 
breathing  mortal,  till  the  little  shiver  of  wind  came,  which 
comes  with  the  first  paling  of  the  sky.  It  was  one  of 
those  yellow  dawns,  serene,  cloudless,  save  for  a  puff  or 
two  of  thin  gray  vapor  low  down  on  the  horizon,  looking 
as  if  it  were  smoke  from  an  unseen  censer  swinging  be- 
fore the  chariot  of  the  Sun  which  heads  the  procession  of 
the  hours.  He  was  so  absorbed  in  watching  the  yellow 
light  grow  to  those  clouds  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand; 
so  lost  in  the  strangle  companionship  with  the  laden  beast 
bound  to  the  wheel  of  Life  and  Death  as  he  was,  yet  ask- 
ing no  question  of  the  future,  that  Tiddu's  hand  and 
voice  startled  him. 

"  Huzoor!  "  he  said.     "  The  yellow  fakir!  " 

They  were  close  on  the  city  of  Meerut.  The  road, 
dipping  down  to  cross  a  depression,  left  a  bank  of  yellow 
dust  on  either  side.  And  on  the  eastern  one,  outlined 
against  the  yellow  simrise,  sat  a  motionless  figure.  It 
was  naked,  and  painted  from  head  to  foot  a  bright  yellow 


178  OJV   THE   FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

color.  The  closed  eyes  were  daubed  over  so  as  to  hide 
them  utterly,  and  on  the  forehead,  as  it  is  in  the  image  of 
Siva,  was  painted  perpendicularly  a  gigantic  eye,  wide, 
set,  stony.  Before  it  in  the  dust  lay  the  beggar's  bowl 
for  alms. 

"  The  roads  part  here,  Huzoor."  said  Tiddu.  "  This 
to  the  city;  that  to  the  cantonments." 

As  he  spoke,  a  handsome  young  fellow  came  swagger- 
ing down  the  latter,  on  his  way  evidently  to  riotous  liv- 
ing in  the  bazaar.  Suddenly  he  paused,  his  hand  went 
up  to  his  eyes  as  if  the  rising  sun  were  in  them.  Then 
he  stepped  across  the  road  and  dropped  a  coin  into  the 
beggar's  bowl.     Tiddu  nodded  his  head  gravely. 

"  That  man  is  wanted,  Huzoor.  That  is  why  he  saw. 
Mayhap  he  is  to  give  the  word." 

"The  word?"  echoed  Jim  Douglas.  "You  said  he 
was  dumb?  " 

"  I  meant  the  trooper,  Huzoor.  The  fakir  wanted 
him.  To  give  the  word,  mayhap.  Someone  must 
always  give  it." 

Jim  Douglas  felt  an  odd  thrill.  He  had  never  thought 
of  that  before.  Someone,  of  course,  must  always  give 
the  word,  the  speech  which  brovtght  more  than  speech. 
What  would  it  be?  Something  soul-stirring,  no  doubt; 
for  Humanity  had  a  theory  that  an  angel  must  trouble 
the  waters  and  so  give  it  a  righteous  cause  for  stepping 
in  to  heal  the  evil. 

But  what  a  strange  knack  the  old  man  had  of  stirring 
the  imagination  with  ridiculous  mystery!  He  felt  vexed 
with  himself  for  his  own  thrill,  his  own  thoughts.  "  He 
is  a  very  ordinar}'  yogi,  I  should  say,"  he  remarked,  look- 
ing toward  the  yellow  simrise,  but  the  figure  was  gone. 
He  turned  to  Tiddu  again,  with  real  annoyance.  "  Well! 
Whoever  he  is,  he  cannot  want  me.  And  I  certainly 
saw  him." 

"  I  willed  the  Huzoor  to  see!  "  replied  Tiddu  with 
calm  effrontery. 

Jim  Douglas  laughed.  The  man  was  certainly  a  con- 
summate liar;  there  was  never  any  possibility  of  catch- 
ing him  out. 


THE    IVORD    WENT  FORTH.  179 

CHAPTER   VII. 

THE    WORD    WENT    FORTH. 

The  Procession  of  the  Hours  had  a  weary  march  of 
it  between  the  yellow  sunrise  and  the  yellow  sunset 
of  the  loth  of  May,  1857;  for  the  heavens  were 
as  brass,  the  air  one  flame  of  white  heat.  The 
mud  huts  of  the  sepoy  lines  at  Meerut  looked  and 
felt  like  bricks  baking  in  a  kiln ;  yet  the  torpor  which  the 
remorseless  glare  of  noon  brings  even  to  native  humanity 
was  exchanged  for  a  strange  restlessness.  The  doors 
stood  open  for  the  most  part,  and  men  wandered  in  and 
out  aimlessly,  like  swarming  bees  before  the  queen  ap- 
pears. In  the  bazaar,  in  the  city  too,  crowds  drifted 
hither  and  thither,  thirstily,  as  if  it  were  not  the  fast 
month  of  Rumzan,  when  the  Mohammedans  are  denied 
the  solace  of  even  a  drop  of  water  till  sundown.  Drifted 
hither  and  thither,  pausing  to  gather  closer  at  a  hint  of 
novelty,  melting  away  again,  restless  as  ever. 

Mayhap  it  was  but  the  inevitable  reaction  after  the 
stun  and  stupefaction  of  Saturday,  the  sudden  awaken- 
ing to  the  result — namely,  that  eighty-five  of  the  best, 
smartest  soldiers  in  Meerut  had  been  set  to  toil  for  ten 
years  in  shackles  because  they  refused  to  be  defiled,  to 
become  apostate.  On  the  other  hand,  the  old  Baharupa 
may  have  been  right  about  the  yellow  fakir:  the  silent, 
motionless  figure  might  have  set  folk  listening  and  wait- 
ing for  the  word.  It  was  to  be  seen  by  all  now  sitting 
outside  the  city;  at  least  Jim  Douglas  saw  it  several 
times.  Saw,  also,  thjt  the  beggar's  bowl  was  fuller  and 
fuller;  but  the  impossibility  of  asserting  that  all  the 
passers-by  saw  it,  as  he  did,  haunted  him,  once  the  idea 
presented  itself  to  his  mind.  It  was  always  so  with 
Tiddu's  mysteries;  they  were  no  more  susceptible  to  dis- 
proof than  they  were  to  proof.  You  could  waste  time, 
of  course,  in  this  case  by  waiting  and  watching,  but  in 
the  natural  course  of  events  half  the  passers-by  would  go 
on  as  if  they  saw  nothing,  and  only  one  in  a  hundred  or 
so  would  give  an  alms.     So  what  would  be  the  good? 


l8o  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

No  one  else,  however,  among  the  masters  troubled 
himself  to  find  a  cause  for  the  restlessness;  no  one 
even  knew  of  it.  To  begin  with,  it  was  a  Sunday,  so 
that  even  the  bond  of  a  common  labor  w-as  slackened  be- 
tween the  dark  faces  and  the  light.  Then  a  mile  or  more 
of  waste  deserted  land  and  dry  watercourse  lay  on  either 
side  of  the  broad  white  road  which  split  the  cantonment 
into  halves.  So  that  the  North  knew  nothing  of  what 
was  going  on  in  the  South,  and  while  men  were  swarm- 
ing like  bees  in  the  sun  on  one  side,  on  the  other  they 
were  shut  up  in  barracks  and  bungalows  gasping  with 
the  heat,  longing  for  the  sun  to  set,  and  thanking  their 
stars  when  the  chaplain's  memo  came  round  to  say  that 
the  evening  service  had  been  postponed  for  half  an  hour 
to  allow  the  seething,  glowing  air  to  cool  a  little. 

It  was  not  the  heat,  however,  which  prevented  Major 
Erlton  from  taking  his  usual  siesta.  It  was  thought. 
He  had  come  over  from  Delhi  on  inspection  duty  a  few 
days  before  and  had  intended  returning  that  evening; 
but  the  morning's  post  had  brought  him  a  letter  which 
upset  all  his  plans.  Alice  Gissing's  husband  had  come 
ovit  a  fortnight  earlier  than  they  had  expected,  and  was 
already  on  his  way  up-country.  The  crisis  had  come, 
the  decision  must  be  made.  It  was  not  any  hesitation, 
however,  which  sent  the  heavy  handsome  face  to  rest  in 
the  big  strong  hands  as  he  rested  his  elbows  on  a  sheet 
of  blank  paper.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  on  the  very 
day  when  Alice  Gissing  had  first  told  him  why  she  could 
not  go  back  to  her  husband.  The  letter  forwarding  his 
papers  for  resignation  was  already  sealed  on  the  table 
beside  him;  and  the  surprise  was  rather  a  gain  than 
otherwise.  Alice  could  join  him  at  Meerut  now,  and 
they  could  slip  away  together  to  Cashmere  or  any  out 
of  the  way  place  where  there  was  shooting.  That  would 
save  a  lot  of  fuss;  and  the  fear  of  fuss  was  the  only  one 
which  troubled  the  Major,  personally.  He  hated  to 
know  that  even  his  friends  would  wonder — for  the  matter 
of  that  those  who  knew  him  best  would  wonder  most — 
why  he  was  chucking  everything  for  a  woman  he  had 
been  mixed  up  with  for  years.  Yet  he  had  found  no 
difficulty  in  writing  that  official  request;  none  in  telling 


THE    WORD    WENT  FORTH.  i8i 

little  Allie  to  join  him  as  soon  as  she  could.  It  was  this 
third  letter  which  could  not  be  written.  He  took  up  the 
pen  more  than  once,  only  to  lay  it  down  again.  He 
began,  "  My  dear  Kate,"  once,  only  to  tear  the  sheet  to 
pieces.  How  could  he  call  her  his  when  he  was  going 
to  tell  her  that  she  was  his  no  longer;  that  the  best  thing 
she  could  do  was  to  divorce  him  and  marry  some  other 
chap  to  be  a  father  to  the  boy. 

The  thought  sent  the  head  into  the  hands  again;  for 
Herbert  Erlton  was  a  healthy  animal  and  loved  his  off- 
spring by  instinct.     He  had,  in  truth,  a  queer  upside- 
down  notion  of  his  responsibilities  toward  them.     If  the 
fates  had  permitted  it  he  would  have  done  his  best  by 
Freddy.     Shown  him  the  ropes,  given  him  useful  tips, 
stuod  by  his  inexperience,  paid  his  reasonable  debts — 
always  supposing  he  had  the  wherewithal. 
i,      Then  how  was  he  to  tell  Kate  all  the  ugly  story.     He 
I:  had  left  her  in  his  thoughts  so  completely,  she  had  been 
I  so  far  apart  from  him  for  so  many  years  now,  that  he 
(  hesitated  over  telling  her  the  bare  facts,  just  as — being 
j  conventionally    a    perfectly    well-bred    man — he    would 
i  have  hesitated  how  to  tell  them  to  any  innocent  woman 
i,  of  his  acquaintance.     Rather  more  so,  for  Kate — though 
i'  she  was  sentimental  enough,  he  told  himself,  for  two — 
j'  had  never  been  sensible  and  looked  things  in  the  face. 
If  she  had,  it  might  all  have  been  different.     Then  with  a 
rush   came  the   remembrance  that   Allie   did — that   she 
knew  him  every  inch  and  was  yet  w'illing  to  come  with 
him.     While   he?     He  would  stick  through  thick   and 
thin  to  little  Allie,  who  never  made  a  man  feel  a  fool  or 
a  beast.      Something   in    the    last    assertion    seemed   to 
harden   his   heart;  he   took   up   his   pen   and   began   to 
write : 

"My  Dear  Kate:  I  call  you  that  because  I  can't 
^hink  of  any  other  beginning  that  doesn't  seem  foolish; 
but  it  means  nothing,  and  I  only  want  to  tell  you  that 
circumstances  over  which  we  had  no  control  (he  felt 
rather  proud  of  this  circumlocution  for  a  circumstance 
due  entirely  to  his  volition)  make  it  necessary  for  me  to 
leave  you.     It  is  the  only  course  open  to  me  as  a  gentle- 


I»2  ON    THE   FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

man.  Besides  I  want  to,  for  I  love  Alice  Gissing  dearly. 
I  am  going  to  marry  her,  D.  V.,  as  soon  as  I  can.  Mr. 
Gissing  may  make  a  fuss — it  is  a  criminal  offense,  you 
see,  in  India — but  we  shall  tide  over  that.  Of  course 
you  could  prevent  me  too,  but  you  are  not  that  sort.  So 
I  have  sent  in  my  papers.  It  is  a  pity,  in  a  way,  because 
I  liked  this  work.  But  it  is  only  a  two-year  appoint- 
ment, and  I  should  hate  the  regiment  after  it.  For  the 
rest,  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  to  think  you  will  mind; 
except  for  the  boy.  It  is  a  pity  for  him  too,  but  it  isn't 
as  if  he  were  a  girl,  and  the  other  may  be.  It  wall  do  no 
good  to  say  I'm  sorry.  Besides,  I  don't  think  it  is  all 
my  fault,  and  I  know  you  will  be  happier  without  me. 
"  Yours  sincerely, 

"  Herbert   Erlton. 

"  P.  S. — It's  no  use  crying  over  spilled  milk.  I  believe 
you  used  to  think  I  would  get  the  regiment  some  day, 
but  they  would  never  have  given  it  to  me.  I  made  a  bit 
of  a  spurt  lately,  but  it  couldn't  have  lasted  to  the  finish, 
and  after  all,  that  is  the  win  or  the  lose  in  a  race. 

"  H.  E." 

The  postscript  was  added  after  re-reading  the  rest  with 
an  uncomfortable  remembrance  that  it  was  the  last  letter 
he  meant  to  write  to  her.  Then  he  threw  it  ready  for  the 
post  beside  the  others,  and  lay  down  feeling  that  he  had 
done  his  duty.  And  as  he  dozed  off  his  own  simile 
haunted  him.  From  start  to  finish!  How  few  men 
rode  straight  all  the  way;  and  the  poor  beggars  who 
came  to  grief  over  the  last  fence  weren't  so  far  behind 
those  who  came  in  for  the  clapping.  It  was  the  finish 
that  did  it;  that  was  the  wan  or  the  lose.  But  he  would 
run  straight  with  little  Allie — straight  as  a  die!  So  he 
lost  consciousness  in  a  glow  of  virtuous  content  with  the 
future,  and  joined  the  whole  of  the  northern  half  of 
Meerut  in  their  noontide  slumbers;  for  the  future  out- 
look, if  not  exactly  satisfying,  was  not  sufficiently 
dubious  to  keep  it  awake. 

But  in  the  southern  half,  humanity  was  still  swarming 
in  and  out,  waiting,  listening.     In  one  of  the  mud-huts, 


THE    WORD    WENT  FORTH.  183 

however,  a  company  of  men  gathered  within  closed 
doors  had  been  listening  to  some  purpose.  Listening 
to  an  eloquent  speaker,  the  accredited  agent  of  a  down- 
country  organization.  He  had  arrived  in  Aleerut  a  day 
or  two  before,  and  had  held  one  meeting  after  another  in 
the  lines,  doing  his  utmost  to  prevent  any  premature 
action;  for  the  fiat  of  the  leaders  was  that  there  should 
be  patience  till  the  31st  of  May.  Then,  not  until  then, 
a  combined  blow  for  India,  for  God,  for  themselves, 
might  be  struck  with  chance  of  success. 

"  Ameen!  "  assented  one  old  man  who  had  come  with 
him.  An  old  man  in  a  huge  faded  green  turban  with 
dyed  red  hair  and  beard,  and  with  a  huge  green  waist- 
band holding  a  curved  scimitar.  Briefly,  a  Ghazee  or 
Mohammedan  fanatic.  "  Patience,  all  ye  faithful,  till 
Sunday,  the  31st  of  May.  Then,  while  the  hell-doomed 
infidels  are  at  their  evening  prayer,  defenseless,  fall  on 
them  and  slay.  God  will  show  the  right!  This  is  the 
Moulvie's  word,  sent  by  me  his  servant.  Give  the  Great 
Cry,  brothers,  in  the  House  of  the  Thief!  Smite  ye  of 
Meerut,  and  we  of  Lucknow  will  smite  also."  His  wild 
uncontrolled  voice  rolled  on  in  broad  Arabic  vowels  from 
one  text  to  another. 

"  And  we  of  Delhi  will  smite  also,"  interrupted  the 
wearer  of  a  rakish  Moghul  cap  impatiently.  "  We  will 
smite  for  the  Queen." 

"The  Queen?"  echoed  an  older  man  in  the  same 
dress.  "  What  hath  the  Sheeah  woman  to  do  with  the 
race  of  Timoor?  " 

"  Peace!  peace!  brothers,"  put  in  the  agent  with 
authority.  "  These  times  are  not  for  petty  squabbles. 
Let  who  be  the  heir,  the  King  must  reign." 

A  murmur  of  assent  rose;  but  it  was  broken  in  upon 
by  a  dissentient  voice  from  a  group  of  troopers  at  the 
door. 

"Then  our  comrades  are  to  rot  in  jail  till  the  31st? 
That  suits  not  the  men  of  the  3d  Cavalry." 

"  Then  let  the  3d  Cavalry  suit  itself,"  retorted  the 
agent  fearlessly.  "  We  can  stand  without  them.  Can 
they  stand  without  us?  Answer  me,  men  of  the  20th; 
men  of  the  nth," 


1 84  ON    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

"  There  be  not  many  of  us  here,"  muttered  a  voice 
from  a  dark  corner;  "  and  maybe  we  could  hold  our  own 
against  the  lot  of  you."  it  was  Soma's,  and  the  man 
beside  him  frowned.  But  the  agent  who  knew  every 
petty  jealousy,  every  private  quarrel  of  regiment  with 
regiment,  went  on  remorselessly.  "  Let  the  3d  swagger 
if  it  choose.  The  Rajpoots  and  Brahmins  know  how  to 
obey  the  stars.  The  31st  is  the  auspicious  day.  That  is 
the  word.  The  word  of  the  King,  of  the  Brahmins,  of 
India,  of  God!  " 

"The  31st!  Then  slay  and  spare  not!  It  is  jehad! 
Deen!    Deen!    Fiitteh    Mohammed! "    said    the    Ghazee. 

The  cry,  though  a  mere  whisper,  electrified  the 
Mohammedans,  and  an  older  man  in  the  group  of  dis- 
sentients at  the  door  muttered  that  he  could  hold  his 
troop — if  others  who  had  risen  to  favor  quicker  than 
he — could  hold  theirs. 

"  I'll  hold  mine.  Khan  sahib,  without  thine  aid,"  re- 
torted a  very  young  smart-looking  native  officer  angrily. 
"  That  is  if  the  women  will  hold  their  tongues.  But, 
look  you,  my  troop  held  the  hardest  hitters  in  the  3d. 
And  Nargeeza's  fancy  is  of  those  in  jail.  Now  Nargeeza 
leads  all  the  other  town-women  by  the  nose;  and  that 
means  much  to  men  who  be  not  all  saints  like  Ghazee- 
jee  yonder,  who  ties  the  two  ends  of  life  with  a  ragged 
green  turljan  and  a  bloody  banner!  " 

"  And  I  see  not  why  our  comrades  should  stay  yonder 
for  three  weeks,  wfien  there  is  but  a  native  guard  to  hold 
them,  and  I  and  mine  have  made  the  Sirkar  what  it  is," 
put  in  a  man  with  arrogance  and  insolence  written  on 
him  from  top  to  toe;  a  true  type  of  the  pampered  Brah- 
min sepoy. 

"  Rescue  them  if  thou  wilt,  Havildar-;(T,"  sneered  the 
agent.  "  But  the  man  who  risks  our  plot  will  be  held 
traitor  by  the  Council.  And  the  men  of  the  nth,"  he 
added  sharply,  turning  to  the  corner  whence  Soma's 
voice  had  come,  "  may  remember  that  also.  They  have 
had  the  audacity  to  stipulate  for  their  Colonel's  life." 

"  For  our  officers  lives,  baboo-jce,"  came  the  voice 
again,  bold  as  the  agent's.  "  We  of  the  nth  kill  not  men 
Vvho  have  led  us  to  victory.     And  if  this  be  not  under- 


THE    WORD    WENT  FORTH.  185 

stood  I,  Soma,  Yadubansi,  go  straight  to  the  Colonel 
and  tell  him.  We  are  not  butchers  in  the  nth:  Oh, 
priest  of  Kali!  " 

The  agent  turned  a  little  pale.  He  did  not  care  to  have 
his  calling  known,  and  he  saw  at  a  glance  that  his  chal- 
lenger had  the  reckless  fire  of  hemp  in  his  eyes.  He 
had  indeed  been  drinking  as  a  refuge  from  the  memory 
of  the  sweeper's  broom  and  from  the  taunts  and  threats 
which  had  been  used  to  force  him  to  join  the  malcon- 
tents. Such  a  man  was  not  safe  to  quarrel  with,  nor  was 
the  audience  fit  for  a  discussion  of  that  topic;  there  was 
already  a  stir  in  it,  and  mutterings  that  butchery  was  one 
thing,  fighting  another. 

"  Pay  thy  Colonel's  journey  home  if  thou  likest,  Raj- 
poot-y'cT,"  he  said  with  a  sneer.  "Ay!  and  give  him 
pension,  too!  All  we  want  is  to  get  rid  of  them.  And 
there  will  be  plenty  of  loot  left  when  the  pension  is  paid, 
for  it  is  to  be  each  man  for  himself  when  the  time  comes. 
Not  share  and  share  alike  with  every  coward  who  will 
not  risk  his  life  in  looting,  as  it  is  with  the  Sirkary 

It  was  a  deft  red-herring  to  these  born  mercenaries, 
and  no  more  was  said.  But  as  the  meeting  dispersed  by 
twos  and  threes  to  avoid  notice,  the  agent  stood  at  the 
door  giving  the  word  in  a  final  whisper: 

"  Patience  till  the  31st." 

"  Willst  take  a  seat  in  gur  carria'ge,  Ghazee-yVc,"  said 
a  fat  native  officer  as  he  passed  out.  '*  'Tis  at  thy  service 
since  thou  goest  to  Delhi  and  we  must  return  to-night. 
God  knows  we  have  done  enough  to  damn  us  at  Meerut 
over  this  court-martial!  But  w^hat  would  you?  If  we 
had  not  given  the  verdict  for  the  Huzoors  there  would 
have  been  more  of  us  in  jail.  So  we  bide  our  time  like 
the  rest.  And  to-morrow  there  is  the  parade  to  hear  the 
sentence  on  the  martyrs  at  Barrackpore.  Do  the  sahibs 
think  us  cowards  that  they  drive  us  so?  God  smite  their 
souls  to  hell!  " 

"  He  will,  brother,  he  will.  The  Cry  shall  yet  be  heard 
in  the  House  of  the  Thief,"  said  the  Ghazee  fiercely,  his 
eyes  growing  dreamy  with  hope.  He  was  thinking  of  a 
sunset  near  the  Goomtee  more  than  a  year  ago,  \yhen  he 
had  bid  every  penny  he  possessed  for  his  own,  in  vain. 


l86  ON    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

"  Well,  come  if  thou  likest,"  continued  the  native 
officer.  "  That  camel  of  thine  yonder  is  lame,  and  we 
have  room.  'Twas  Erlton  sahib's  dak  by  rights,  but  he 
goes  not;  so  we  got  it  cheap  instead  of  an  ckka." 

"  Erlton  sahib's!  "  echoed  the  fanatic,  clutching  at 
his  sword.  "Ay!  Ay!"  he  went  on  half  to  himself.  "I 
knew  he  was  at  Delhi,  and  the  mem  who  laughed,  and  the 
other  mem  who  would  not  listen.  Nay!  Soubadar-yrr.' 
I  travel  in  no  carriage  of  Erlton  sahib's.  My  camel 
will  serve  me." 

"  'Tis  the  vehicle  of  saints,"  sneered  the  owner  of  the 
rakish  Moghul  cap.  "  Verily,  when  I  saw  thee  mounted 
on  it,  Ghazee-ytT,  1  deemed  thee  the  Lord  Ali." 

"  Peace!  scofifer,"  interrupted  the  fanatic,  "lest  I  mis- 
take thee  for  an  infidel." 

The  Moghul  ducked  hastily  from  a  wild  swing  of  the 
curved  sword,  and  moved  off  swearing  such  firebrands 
should  be  locked  up;  they  might  set  light  to  the  train  ere 
wise"  men  had  it  ready. 

"  No  fear!  "  said  the  smart  young  troop-sergeant  of 
the  3d.  "  Who  listens  to  such  as  he  save  those  whose 
blood  has  cooled,  and  those  whose  blood  was  never  hot? 
The  fighters  listen  to  women  who  can  make  their  flame." 

Soma,  who  was  drifting  with  them  toward  the  drug- 
shops  of  the  city,  scowled  fiercely.  "  That  may  suit  thee, 
Mussulman-yVr,  who  art  casteless,  and  can  sup  shares 
with  sweeper  women  in  the  bazaar;  but  the  Rajpoot 
needs  no  harlot  to  teach  him  courage.  The  mothers  of 
his  race  have  enough  and  to  spare." 

''  Loh!  hark  to  him!  "  jibed  the  corporal  of  the  20th, 
who  was  sticking  to  his  prey  like  a  leech.  "  Ask  him, 
EIavildar-;Vr,  if  he  prefers  a  sweeper's  broom  to  a 
sweeper's  lips." 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter  from  the  group. 

Soma  gave  a  beast-like  cry,  looked  as  though  he  were 
about  to  spring,  then — recognizing  his  own  helpless- 
ness— fiung  himself  away  from  all  companionship  and 
walked  home  moodily.  They  had  driven  him  too  far; 
he  would  not  stand  it.  If  that  tale  was  spread  abroad, 
he  would  side  with  the  Huzoors  who  did  not  believe  such 
things — with  the  Colonel  who  understood,  like  the  Colo- 


THE    WORD    WENT  FORTH.  187 

nel  before  him  who  had  gone  home  on  pension;  for  the 
nth  had  a  cult  of  their  officers.  And  these  fools,  his 
countrymen,  thought  to  make  him  a  butcher  by  threats; 
sought  to  make  him  take  revenge  for  what  deserved 
revenge.  For  it  was  the  Sirkars  fault — it  was  the 
Sirkar's  fault. 

In  truth  a  strange  conflict  was  going  on  in  this  man's 
mind,  as  it  was  in  many  another  such  as  his,  between 
inherited  traditions,  making  alike  for  loyalty  and  dis- 
loyalty. There  was  the  knowledge  of  his  forbears'  pride 
in  their  victories,  in  their  sahibs  who  had  led  them  to 
victory,  and  the  knowledge  of  their  pride  in  the  veriest 
jot  or  tittle  of  ceremonial  law.  A  dull,  painful  amaze  filled 
him  that  these  two  broad  facts  should  be  in  conflict ;  that 
those,  whom  in  a  way  he  felt  to  be  part  of  his  life,  should 
be  in  league  against  him.  All  the  more  reason,  that, 
for  showing  them  who  were  the  better  men ;  for  standing 
up  fairly  to  a  fair  fight.  By  all  the  delights  of  Swarga! 
he  would  like  to  stand  up  fair,  even  to  the  master — the 
man  who,  in  his  presence,  had  shot  three  tigers  on  foot 
in  half  an  hour — the  demi-god  of  his  hunting  yarns  for 
years. 

And  then,  suddenly,  he  remembered  that  this  hero  of 
his  might  be  shot  like  a  dog  on  the  31st  at  Delhi — would 
be  shot,  since  he  was  certain  to  be  in  the  front  of  any- 
thing. Soma's  heat-fevered,  hemp-drugged  brain  seized 
on  the  thought  fiercely,  confusedly.  That  must  not  be! 
The  master,  at  any  rate,  must  be  warned.  He  would  go 
down  when  the  sun  set,  and  see  if  he  were  still  where 
he  had  been  the  day  before;  and  if  not? — Why!  then  it 
must  be  two  days  leave  to  Delhi !  He  was  not  going  10 
butcher  the  master  for  all  the  sweepers'  brooms  in  the 
world.  Fools!  those  others,  to  think  to  drive  him, 
Soma,  Chundrabansi!  So  he  flung  himself  on  his  string 
bed  to  sleep  till  the  sunset  came,  and  the  tyranny  of  heat 
be  overpast. 

But  there  was  one,  close  by  in  the  cantonment  bazaar, 
who  waited  for  sunset  with  no  desire  for  it  to  bring  cool- 
ness. She  meant  it  to  bring  heat  instead.  And  this  was 
Nargeeza  the  courtesan.  "She  was  past  the  prime  of 
everything  save  vice,  a  woman  who,  once  all-powerful, 


1 88  OA'    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

could  not  hope  for  many  more  lovers;  and  hers,  a  man 
rich  beyond  most  soldiers,  lay  in  jail  for  ten  years.  No 
wonder,  then,  that  as  she  lay  half-torpid  among  a  heap 
of  tawdry  finery  in  the  biggest  house  of  the  lane  set  apart 
by  regulation  for  such  as  she,  there  was  all  the  venom  of 
a  snake  in  her  drowsy  brain.  The  air  of  the  low  room 
was  deadly  with  a  scent  of  musk  and  roses  and  orange- 
blossom-oil.  The  half-dozen  girls  and  women  who 
lounged  in  it,  or  in  the  balcony,  were  half  undressed,  their 
bare  brown  arms  flung  carelessly  upon  dirty  mats  and 
torn  cjuilts.  Their  harvest  time  was  not  yet;  that  would 
come  later  when  sunsetting  brought  the  men  from  the 
lines.  This,  then,  was  the  time  for  sleep.  But  Nargeeza, 
recognized  head  of  the  recognized  regimental  women, 
sat  up  suddenly  and  said  sharply: 

"  Thou  didst  not  tell  me,  Nasiban,  what  Gulabi  said. 
Is  she  of  us?  " 

A  drowsy  lump  of  a  girl  stirred,  yawned,  and  answered 
sullenly,  "  Yea!  Yea!  she  is  of  us.  She  claims  our  right 
to  kiss  no  cowards — no  cowards." 

The  voice  tailed  off  into  sleep  again,  and  Nargeeza  lay 
back  with  a  smile  of  content  to  wait  also.  So,  after  a 
time,  folk  began  to  stir  in  the  bungalows.  First  in  the 
rest-house,  where,  oddly  enough,  Jim  Douglas  occupied 
one  end  of  the  long  low  barrack  of  a  place,  and  Herbert 
Erlton  the  other.  The  former  having  come  back  from 
the  city  in  an  evil  temper  to  get  something  to  eat  before 
starting  for  Delhi,  had  found  his  horse,  the  Belooch, 
unaccountably  indisposed;  Jhungi,  who  had  brought  her 
there  safely,  professing  entire  ignorance  of  the  cause,  or, 
on  pressure,  suggesting  the  nefarious  Bhungi.  Tiddu 
asserting — with  a  calm  assumption  of  superior  knowl- 
edge, for  which  Jim  Douglas  could  have  kicked  him — 
that  the  mare  had  been  drugged.  As  if  anybody  could 
not  tell  that?  And  that  the  drug  had  been  opium.  To 
which  the  old  scoundrel  had  replied  afifably  that  in  that 
case  the  effects  would  pass  off  during  the  night,  and  the 
mare  be  none  the  worse;  no  one  be  any  the  worse,  since 
the  Huzoor  was  quite  comfortable  in  Meerut,  and  could 
easily  stay  another  day.     It  was  a  nicer  place  than  Delhi; 


THE    WORD    IVENT  FORTH.  189 

there  were  more  sahibs  in  it,  and  the  presence  of  the 
"  gJwra  logiie "  (i.  e.,  EngUsh  soldiers)  kept  everyone 
virtuous. 

His  hearer  looked  at  him  sharply.  Here  was  some 
other  trick,  no  doubt,  to  cozen  him  out  of  another  five 
rupees;  for  something,  maybe,  as  useless  as  the  yellow 
fakir.  And  there  was  really  no  reason  for  delay;  it  was 
only  a  case  of  walking  the  mare  quietly.  For  the  matter 
of  that,  the  exercise  would  do  her  good,  and  help  her  to 
work  off  the  effects  of  the  drug.  So  he  would  start 
sooner,  that  was  all.  Nevertheless  he  gave  an  envious 
look  at  the  ^Major's  little  Arab  in  the  next  stall.  It 
would  most  likely  be  marching  back  to  Delhi  that  night, 
and  he  would  have  given  something  to  ride  it  again.  But 
as  he  was  returning  from  the  stables,  he  learned  by 
chance  that  the  Major's  plans  had  been  altered.  An 
orderly  was  coming  from  his  room  with  letters  and  a 
telegram,  and  knowing  the  man,  Jim  Douglas  asked  him 
to  take  one  for  him  also,  and  so  save  trouble.  It  did  not 
take  long  to  write,  for  it  only  contained  one  word,  "  No." 
It  was  in  reply  to  one  he  had  received  a  few  hours  before 
from  the  military  magnate,  asking  him  to  do  some  more 
work.  And  as  the  orderly  stowed  away  the  accompany- 
ing rupee  carefully,  Jim  Douglas — waiting  to  make  over 
the  paper — saw  quite  involuntarily  that  the  Major's  tele- 
gram also  consisted  of  one  word,  "  Come."  And  he  saw 
the  name  also;  big,  black,  bold,  in  the  Major's  handwTit- 
ing.     "  Gissing,  Delhi." 

He  gave  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders  as  he  turned  away  to 
get  ready  for  his  start.  So  that  was  it;  and  even  Kate 
Erlton  had  not  benefited  by  his  sacrifice.  No  one  had 
benefited.  There  had  been  no  chance  for  any  of  them. 
"Come!"  That  ended  Kate  Erlton's  hope  of  conceal- 
ment, the  Major's  career.  "No!"  That  ended  his  own 
vague  ambitions.  Still,  it  was  a  strange  chance  in  itself 
that  those  two  laconic  renunciations  should  go  the  same 
dav  bv  the  same  hand.  No  stranger  telegrams,  he 
thought,  could  have  left  :Meerut,  or  were  likely  to  leave 
it  that  night. 

He  was  wrong,  however.     An  hour  or  two  later,  the 


190  O.V    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

stran£2:est  telegram  that  ever  came  as  sole  warning  to  an 
Empire  that  its  very  foundation  was  attacked,  left  Meerut 
for  Agra;  sent  by  the  postmaster's  niece. 

"  The  Cavalry,"  it  ran,  "  have  risen,  setting  fire  to  their 
own  houses  besides  having  killed  and  wounded  all  Euro- 
pean ofificers  and  soldiers  they  could  find  near  the  lines. 
If  Aunt  intends  starting  to-morrow,  please  detain  her,  as 
the  van  has  been  prevented  from  leaving  the  station." 

For,  as  Jim  Douglas  paced  slowly  down  the  Mall  to- 
ward Delhi,  and  Soma,  his  buckles  gleaming,  his  belts 
pipe-clayed  to  dazzling  whiteness,  was  swaggering 
through  the  bazaar  on  his  way  to  the  rest-house  with  his 
word  of  warning — the  word  which  would  have  given  Jim 
Douglas  the  power  for  which  he  had  longed — another 
word  was  being  spoken  in  that  lane  of  lust,  where  the 
time  had  come  for  which  Nargeeza  had  waited  all  day. 
But  she  did  not  say  it.  It  was  only  a  big  trollop  of  a  girl 
hung  with  jasmine  garlands,  painted,  giggling. 

"  We  of  the  bazaar  kiss  no  cowards,"  she  said  deris- 
ively.    "  AMiere  are  your  comrades?" 

The  man  to  whom  she  said  it,  a  young  dissolute-faced 
trooper,  dressed  in  the  loose  rakish  muslins  beloved  of 
his  class — the  very  man,  perchance,  who  had  gone  city- 
ward that  morning,  and  dropped  an  alms  into  the  yellow 
fakir's  bowl — stood  for  a  second  in  the  stifling,  madden- 
ing atmosphere  of  musk  and  rose  and  orange-blossom; 
stood  before  all  those  insolent  allurements,  balked  in  his 
passion,  checked  in  his  desires.  Then,  with  an  oath,  he 
dashed  from  her  insulting  charms;  dashed  into  the  street 
with  a  cry: 

"  To  horse!  To  horse,  brothers!  To  the  jail!  to  our 
comrades!  " 

The  word  had  been  spoken.  The  speech  which  brings 
more  than  speech,  had  come  from  the  painted  lips  of  a 
harlot. 

The  first  clang  of  the  church  bell — which  the  chaplain 
had  forgotten  to  postpone — came  faintly  audible  across 
the  dusty  plain,  making  other  men  pause  and  look  at 
each  other.  Why  not?  It  was  the  hour  of  prayer — the 
appointed  time.  Their  comrades  could  be  easilv  res- 
cued— there  was  but  a  native  guard  at  the  jail.     And 


THE    WORD    WENT  FORTH.  I91 

liark!  from  another  pair  of  painted  derisive  lips  came 
the  same  retort,  flung  from  a  balcony. 

"  Trra!     We  of  the  bazaar  kiss  no  cozvards!" 

"  To  horse!     To  horse!     Let  the  comrades  be  rescued 

first;  and  then " 

The  word  had  been  spoken.  Nothing  so  very  soul- 
stirring  after  all.  No  consideration  of  caste  or  religion, 
patriotism  or  ambition.  Only  a  taunt  from  a  pair  of 
painted  lips. 


BOOK   III. 
FROM  DUSK  TO  DAWN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

NIGHT. 

"To  the  rescue!     To  the  rescue!" 

The  cry  was  no  more  than  that  at  first.  To  the  rescue 
of  the  eighty-five  martyrs,  the  blows  upon  whose  shackles 
still  seemed  to  echo  in  their  comrades'  ears.  Even  so, 
the  cry  heard  by  Soma  as  he  passed  through  the  bazaar 
meant  insubordination — the  greatest  crime  he  knew — and 
sent  him  flying  to  his  own  Hues  to  give  the  alarm.  Sent 
him  thence  by  instinct,  oblivious  of  that  promise  for  the 
31st — or  perhaps  mindful  of  it  and  seeing  in  this  outburst 
a  mere  riot — to  his  Colonel's  house  w'ith  twenty  or  thirty 
comrades  clamoring  for  their  arms,  protesting  that  with 
them  they  would  soon  settle  matters  for  the  Huzoors. 
But  suspicion  was  in  the  air,  and  even  the  Colonel  of  the 
nth  could  not  trust  all  his  regiment.  Ready  for  church, 
he  fiung  himself  on  his  horse  and  raced  back  with  the 
clamoring  men  to  the  lines. 

And  by  this  time  there  was  another  race  going  on. 
Captain  Craigie's  faithful  troop  of  the  3d  Cavalry  were 
racing  after  his  shout  of  "  Daii-ro!  bliai-yan,  Dau-ro!  " 
(Ride,  brothers,  ride!)  toward  the  jail  in  the  hopes  of 
averting  the  rescue  of  their  comrades.  For,  as  the 
records  are  careful  to  say,  he  and  his  troop  "  were  dressed 
as  for  parade  " — not  a  buckle  or  a  belt  awry — ready  to 
combat  the  danger  before  others  had  grasped  it,  and 
swiftly,  without  a  thought,  went  for  the  first  offenders. 
Too  late!  the  doors  were  open,  the  birds  flown. 


NIGHT.  T93 

What  next  was  to  be  done?  What  but  to  bring  the 
troop  back  without  a  defaulter — despite  the  taunts  of 
escaping  convicts,  the  temptations  of  comrades  flushed 
by  success — to  the  parade  ground  for  orders.  But  there 
was  no  one  to  give  them,  for  when  the  3d  Cavalry  led  the 
van  of  mutiny  at  Meerut  their  Colonel  was  in  the  Euro- 
pean cantonment  as  held  officer  of  the  week,  and  there 
he  "  conceived  it  his  duty  to  remain."  Perhaps  rightly. 
And  it  is  also  conceivable  that  his  absence  made  no  dif- 
ference, since  it  is,  palpably,  an  easier  task  to  make  a 
regiment  mutiny  than  to  bring  it  back  to  its  allegiance. 

Meanwhile  the  officers  of  the  other  regiments,  the  nth 
and  the  20th,  were  facing  their  men  boldly;  facing  the 
problem  how  to  keep  them  steady  till  that  squadron  of 
the  Carabineers  should  sweep  down,  followed  by  a  com- 
pany or  two  of  the  Rifles  at  the  double,  and  turn  the 
balance  in  favor  of  loyalty.  It  could  not  be  long  now. 
Nearly  an  hour  had  passed  since  the  first  wild  stampede 
to  the  jail.  The  refuse  and  rabble  of  the  town  were  by 
this  time  swarming  out  of  it,  armed  with  sticks  and 
staves;  the  two  thousand  and  odd  felons  released  from 
the  jails  were  swarming  in,  seeking  weapons.  The  dan- 
ger grew  every  second,  and  the  officers  of  the  nth, 
though  their  men  stood  steady  as  rocks  behind  them, 
counted  the  moments  as  they  sped.  For  on  the  other 
side  of  the  road,  on  the  parade  ground  of  the  20th  regi- 
ment, the  sepoys,  ordered,  as  the  nth  had  been,  to  turn 
out  unarmed,  were  barely  restrained  from  rushing  the 
bells  by  the  entreaties  of  their  native  officers;  the  Euro- 
pean ones  being  powerless. 

"  Keep  the  men  steady  for  me,"  said  Colonel  Finnis  to 
his  second  in  command;  "  Fll  go  over  and  see  what  I 
can  do." 

He  thought  the  voice  of  a  man  loved  and  trusted  by 
one  regiment,  a  man  who  could  speak  to  his  sepoys  with- 
out an  interpreter,  might  have  power  .to  steady  another. 

]ai  bahnditri!  (Victory  to  courage!)  muttered  Soma 
under  his  breath  as  he  watched  his  Colonel  canter  quietly 
into  danger.  And  his  finger  hungered  on  that  hot  ISIay 
evening  for  the  cool  of  the  trigger  which  was  denied  him. 

Jai  boJiatiiiri!     A  murmur  seemed  to  run  through  the 


194  Oy   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

ranks,  they  dressed  themselves  firmer,  squarer.  Colonel 
Finnis,  glancing  back,  saw  a  sight  to  gladden  any  com- 
mandant's heart.  A  regiment  steady  as  a  rock,  drawn 
up  as  for  parade,  absolutely  in  hand  despite  that  strange 
new  sound  in  the  air.  The  sound  which  above  all 
others  gets  into  men's  brains  like  new  wine.  The  sound 
of  a  file  upon  fetters — the  sound  of  escape,  of  freedom,  of 
license!  It  had  been  rising  vmchecked  for  half  an  hour 
from  the  lines  of  the  3d,  whither  the  martyrs  had  been 
brought  in  triumph.  It  was  rising  now  from  the  bazaar, 
the  city,  from  every  quiet  corner  where  a  prisoner  might 
pavise  to  hack  and  hammer  at  his  leg-irons  with  the  first 
tool  he  could  find. 

What  was  one  man's  voice  against  this  sound, 
strengthened  as  it  was  by  the  cry  of  a  trooper  galloping 
madly  from  the  north  shouting  that  the  English  were  in 
sight?  \^'hat  more  likely?  Had  not  ample  time  passed 
for  the  whole  British  garrison  to  be  coming  with  fixed 
bayonets  and  a  whoop,  to  make  short  work  of  unarmed 
men  who  had  not  made  up  their  minds? 

That  must  be  no  longer! 

"  Quick!  brothers.  Quick!  Kill!  Kill!  Down  with 
the  officers!     Shoot  ere  the  white  faces  come!  " 

It  was  a  sudden  wild  yell  of  terror,  of  courage,  of  sheer 
cruelty.  It  drowned  the  scream  of  the  Colonel's  horse 
as  it  staggered  under  him.  It  drowned  his  steady  ap- 
pealing voice,  his  faint  sob,  as  he  threw  up  his  hands  at 
the  next  shot,  and  fell,  the  first  victim  to  the  Great 
Revolt. 

It  drowned  something  else  also.  It  drowned  Soma's 
groan  of  wild,  half-stupefied,  helpless  rage  as  he  saw  his 
Colonel  fall, — the  sahib  who*  had  led  him  to  victory, — the 
sahib  whom  he  loved,  whom  he  was  pledged  to  save. 
And  his  groan  was  echoed  by  many  another  brave  man 
in  those  ranks,  thus  brought  face  to  face  suddenly  with 
the  necessity  for  decision. 

'■  Steady,  men,  steady!  " 

That  call,  in  the  alien  voice,  echoed  above  the  whist- 
ling of  the  bullets  as  they  found  a  billet  here  and  there 
among  the  ranks;  for  the  men  of  the  20th,  maddened  by 
that  fresh  murder,  now  shot  wildlv  at  their  officers. 


NIGHT.  195 

"  Steady,  men !     Steady,  for  God's  sake !  " 

The  entreaty  was  not  in  vain;  they  were  steady  still. 
Ay,  steady,  but  unarmed!  Steady  as  a  rock  still,  but 
helpless! 

Helpless,  unarmed!  By  all  the  gods  all  men  wor- 
shiped, men  could  not  suffer  that  for  long,  when  bullets 
were  whistling  into  their  ranks. 

So  there  was  a  waver  at  last  in  the  long  line.  A  faint 
tremble,  like  the  tremble  of  a  curving  wave  ere  it  falls. 
Then,  with  a  confused  roar,  an  aimless  sweeping  away  of 
all  things  in  its  path,  it  broke  as  a  wave  breaks  upon  a 
pebbly  shore. 

"To  arms,  brothers!     Quick!  fire!  fire!" 

Upon  whom?*  God  knows!  Xot  on  their  officers, 
for  these  were  already  being  hustled  to  the  rear,  hustled 
into  safetv. 

"Quick,  brothers,  quick!     Kill!     Kill!" 

The  cry  rose  on  all  sides  now,  as  the  wave  of  revolt 
surged  on.  But  there  was  none  left  to  kill;  for  the  work 
was  done  in  the  20th  lines,  and  no  new  white  faces  came 
to  stem  the  tide.  Two  thousand  and  odd  Englishmen 
who  might  have  stemmed  it  being  still  on  the  parade- 
ground  by  the  church,  waiting  for  orders,  for  ammu- 
nition, for  a  General,  for  everything  save — thank 
Heaven! — for  courage. 

So  the  wave  surged  on,  to  what  end  it  scarcely  knew, 
leaving  behind  it  groups  of  sullen,  startled  faces. 

"Whose  fault  but  their  own?"  muttered  an  old  man 
fiercely;  an  old  man  whose  son  served  beside  him  in  the 
regiment,  whose  grandson  was  on  the  roster  for  future 
enlistment.  "  Why  were  we  left  helpless  as  new-born 
babes? " 

"Why?"  echoed  a  scornful  voice  from  the  gathering 
clusters  of  undecided  men,  waiting,  with  growing  fear, 
hope,  despair,  or  triumph,  for  what  was  to  come  next: 

*  This  question  is  one  which  must  be  asked  as  we  look  back  through 
the  years  on  this  pitiful  spectacle  of  the  loyal  regiment,  unarmed,  facing 
the  disloyal  one  shooting  down  its  officers.  Briefly,  on  whom  would  the 
seventy  men  of  the  nth,  who  never  left  the  colors,  the  hundred  and 
twenty  men  who  returned  to  them  after  the  short  night  of  tumult  was 
over,  have  fired  if  a  company  of  English  troops  had  come  up  to  turn  the 
balance  in  favor  of  loyalty  ? 


196  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATEHS. 

waiting,  briefly,  for  the  master  to  come,  or  not  to  come. 
'■  W'hv?  because  they  were  afraid  of  us;  because  their 
time  is  past,  baba  jee.     Let  them  go!  " 

Let  them  go.  Incomprehensible  suggestion  to  that 
brave  worn  stifif  in  the  master's  service;  so,  with  a  great 
numb  ache  in  an  old  heart,  an  old  body  strode  away, 
elbowing  younger  ones  from  its  path  savagely. 

"  Old  Dhurma  hath  grown  milksop,"  jeered  one 
spectator;  "  that  is  with  doing  dry-nurse  to  his  Captain's 
babies." 

The  words  caught  the  old  man's  ear  and  sent  a  quick 
decision  to  his  dazed  face.  The  baba  logue!  Yes;  they 
must  be  safeguarded;  for  ominous  smoke  began  to  rise 
from  neighboring  roof-trees,  and  a  strange  note  of  sheer 
wild-beast  ferocity  grew  to  the  confused  roar  of  the 
drifting,  shifting,  still  aimless  crowd. 

"Quick,  brothers,  quick!  Kill,  root  and  branch! 
Why  dost  linger?  Art  afraid?  Afraid  of  cowards? 
Quick — kill  everyone!  " 

The  cry,  boastful,  jeering,  came  from  a  sepoy  in  the 
uniform  of  the  20th,  who,  with  a  face  ablaze  with  mad  ex- 
ultation, forced  his  way  forward.  There  was  something 
in  his  tone  which  seemed  to  send  a  shiver  of  fresh  ex- 
citement through  his  comrades,  for  they  paused  in  their 
strange,  aimless  tumult,  paused  and  listened  to  the  jeers, 
the  reproaches. 

"What!  art  cowards  too?"  he  went  on.  "Then  fol- 
low me.  For  [  began  it — I  fired  the  first  shot — I  killed 
the  first  infidel.     I " 

The  boast  never  ended,  for  above  it  came  a  quicker  cry: 

"Kill,  kill,  kill  the  traitor!  KilJ  the  man  who 
betrayed  us." 

There  was  a  rush  onward  toward  the  boastful,  arrogant 
voice,  the  report  of  half  a  dozen  muskets,  and  the  crowd 
surged  on  to  revolt  over  the  body  of  the  man  who  had 
fired  the  first  shot  of  the  mutiny. 

For  it  was  a  strange  crowd  indeed;  most  of  it  power- 
less for  good  or  ill,  sheep  without  a  shepherd,  wandering 
after  the  rabble  of  escaped  convicts  and  the  refuse  of  the 
bazaars  as  they  plundered  and  fired  the  houses.  Joining 
in  the  license  helplessly,  drifting  inevitably  to  violence, 


NIGHT.  197 

SO  that  some  looked  on  curiously,  unconcernedly,  while 
others,  maddened  by  the  smell  of  blood,  the  sounds  of 
murder, draggled  helpless  Englishmen  and  EngUshwomen 
from  their  carriages  and  did  them  to  death  savagely. 

But  there  were  more  like  Soma,  who,  as  the  darkness 
deepened  and  the  glare  and  the  dire  confusion  and  dis- 
may grew,  stood  aloof  from  it  voluntarily,  waiting,  with 
a  certain  callousness,  to  see  if  the  master  would  come, 
or  if  folk  said  true  when  they  declared  his  time  was 
past,  his  day  done. 

Where  was  he?  He  should  have  come  hours  ago, 
irresistible,  overwhelming.  But  there  was  no  sign.  Not 
a  hint  of  resistance,  save  every  now  and  again  a  clatter 
of  hoofs  through  the  darkness,  an  alien  voice  calling 
"  Maro!  Maro!  "  to  those  behind  him,  and  a  fierce  howl 
of  an  echo,  "  Maro!  Maro!  Ma-roh!  "  from  the  faithful 
troop.  For  Captain  Craigie,  finding  none  to  help  him, 
had  changed  his  cry.  It  was  "  kill,  kill,  kill  "  now.  And 
the  faithful  troop  obeyed  orders. 

Soma  when  he  heard  it  gave  a  great  sigh.  If  there  had 
been  more  of  that  sort  of  thing  he  would  dearly  have 
loved  to  be  in  it;  but  the  other  was  butchery.  So  he 
wandered  alone,  irresolute,  drifting  northward  from  the 
dire  confusion  and  dismay,  and  crossing  the  Mall  to  ques- 
tion a  sentry  of  his  own  regiment  as  to  what  had  hap- 
pened to  the  masters.  But  the  man  replied  by  eager 
questions  as  to  what  had  happened  to  the  servants.  And 
they  both  agreed  that  if  the  two  thousand  could  not  quell 
a  riot  it  would  be  idle  to  help  them,  the  Lord's  hand  be- 
ing so  palpably  against  them. 

Nevertheless,  half  an  hour  afterward  the  sentry  still 
w^aited  at  his  post,  and  the  guard  over  the  Treasury 
saluted  as  if  nothing  unusual  was  afoot  to  a  group  of 
Englishmen  galloping  past. 

"  Those  men  know  nothing,"  called  Major  Erlton  to 
another  man.  "  It  can't  be  so  bad.  Surely  something 
can  be  done!  " 

"  Something  should  have  been  done  two  hours  ago," 
came  a  sharp  voice.  "  However,  the  troops  have  started 
at  last.     If  anyone " 

The  remainder  was  lost  in  the  clatter.     But  more  than 


198  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

one  man's  voice  had  been  lost  in  those  two  hours  at 
Meerut  on  the  loth  of  May,  1857;  indeed,  everything 
seems  to  have  been  lost  save — thank  Heaven  once  more! 
— personal  courage. 

It  was  now  near  eight  o'clock,  and  Soma,  skulking 
by  the  Mall,  midway  between  the  masters  and  the  men, 
still  irresolute,  still  uncertain,  heard  the  first  cry  of  "  To 
Delhi!  to  Delhi!  "  which,  as  the  night  wore  on,  was  to 
echo  so  often  along  that  road.  The  cry  which  came  un- 
bidden as  the  astounding  success  of  the  revolt  brought 
thoughts  of  greater  success  in  the  future. 

The  moon  was  now  rising  to  silver  the  dense  clouds 
of  smoke  which  hung  above  the  pillars  of  flame,  and 
give  an  additional  horror  of  light  to  the  orgies  going  on 
unchecked.  It  showed  him  a  group  of  3d  Cavalry  troop- 
ers galloping  madly  down  the  Mall.  It  showed  them 
the  glitter  of  his  buckles,  making  them  shout  again: 

"To  Delhi,  brother,  to  Delhi!" 

Not  yet.  He  had  not  seen  the  upshot  yet.  He  must 
go  and  see  what  was  going  on  in  the  lines  first.  So  he 
struck  rapidly  across  the  open  as  the  quickest  way.  And 
then  behind  him,  close  upon  him,  came  another 
clatter  of  hoofs,  a  very  different  cry. 

'^  Shah  bash!   bhaiyan.       Mara!     Mara!" 

Remembering  the  glitter  of  his  buckles,  he  turned  and 
ran  for  the  nearest  cover.  None  too  soon,  for  a  Mo- 
hammedan trooper  was  after  him,  shouting  "  Deen! 
Dccn!  Death  to  the  Hindoo  pig!  "  For  any  cry  comes 
handy  when  the  blood  is  up  and  there  is  a  saber  in  the 
hand.  Soma  had  to  double  like  a  hare,  and  even  so, 
when  he  paused  to  get  his  breath  in  a  tangle  of  lime- 
bushes  there  was  a  graze  on  his  cheek.  He  had  judged 
his  distance  in  one  of  those  doubles  a  hair's  breadth 
too  little.  The  faint  trickle  of  blood  sent  a  spasm  of  old 
inherited  race  hatred  through  him.  The  outcaste  should 
know  that  the  Hindoo  pig  shot  straight.  The  means  of 
showing  this  were  not  far  to  find  in  the  track  of  the  faith- 
ful troop.  Five  minutes  after.  Soma,  with  a  musket 
dragged  from  beneath  something  which  lay  huddled  up 
face  down  upon  ]\Tother  Earth,  was  crouching  in  a  belt 
of  cover,  waiting  for  the  troop  to  come  flashing  through 


NIGHT.  199 

the  glare  seeking  more  work.  For  there  had  been  yells 
and  screams  enough  round  that  bungalow  to  stop  looting 
there.  And  as  it  came  number  seven  bent  lower  to  his 
saddle  bow  suddenly,  then  topi)led  over  with  a  clang. 

"Left  wheel!  clear  those  bushes!"  came  the  order 
sharply.     But  Soma  was  too  quick  for  that. 

"  Close  up.  Forward!  "  came  the  order  again,  as  Cap- 
tain Craigie's  faithful  troop  went  on,  minus  a  man,  and 
Soma,  stumbling  breathlessly  in  safety,  knew  that  the  die 
was  cast.  There  was  an  answering  cjuiver  in  his  veins 
which  comes  when  like  blood  has  been  spilled.  He  knew 
his  foe  now;  he  could  go  to  Delhi  now.  And  hark! 
There  was  a  regular  rattle  of  musketry,  at  last — not  the 
dropping  fire  of  mere  butchery,  but  a  regular  volley.  He 
gripped  his  musket  tighter  and  listened:  if  the  battle  had 
begun  he  must  be  in  it.  The  air  was  full  of  cracklings 
and  hissings — an  inarticulate  background  to  murderous 
yells,  terrified  screams,  horrors  without  end ;  but  no  more 
volleys  came  to  tell  of  retribution. 

What  did  it  mean?  Soma  held  his  breath  hard. 
Hark!  what  was  that?  A  louder  burst  of  that  recurring 
cry,  "  To  Delhi!  to  Delhi!  "  as  the  last  stragglers  of  the 
3d  Cavalry,  escaping  from  the  lines  at  the  long-delayed 
appearance  there  of  law  and  order,  followed  their  com- 
rades' example. 

So  that  the  two  thousand  coming  down  in  force  found 
nothing  but  the  women  and  children;  poor,  frightened, 
terror-struck  hostages,  left  behind,  inevitably,  in  the  un- 
foreseen success. 

But  Soma,  knowing  nothing  of  this,  waited — that  grip 
on  his  musket  slackening — for  the  next  volley.  But 
none  came.     Only,  suddenly,  a  bugle  call. 

The  retreat! 

Incredible!  Impossible!  Yes!  Once,  twice,  thrice — 
the  retreat!  The  masters  were  not  going  to  fight  at 
Aleerut  then,  and  he  must  try  Delhi.  So,  turning 
swiftly,  he  cut  into  the  road  behind  the  cry. 

"My  God,  Craigie!  what's  that?  Xot  the  retreat, 
surely!  "  came  a  boyish  voice  from  the  clatter  and  rattle 
of  the  faithful  troop. 

"  Don't  know!     Hurry  up  all  you  can,  Clark!     There's 


200  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

more  of  the  devils  needing  cold  steel  yonder,  and  I'd  like 
to  see  to  my  wife's  safety  as  soon  as  I  can.  Shah  bash 
bhaiyan  Dan-ro.    Alaro." 

"  Maro — Ma — ro — Ma roh!"     echoed    the    howl. 

What  was  the  retreat  to  them  when  their  Captain's  voice 
called  to  them  as  brothers?  It  is  idle  to  ask  the  question, 
but  one  cannot  help  wondering  if  the  Captain's  pocket 
still  held  the  official  wigging.  For  the  sake  of  pictur- 
esque effect  it  is  to  be  hoped  it  did. 

Nevertheless  it  ivas  the  retreat.  A  council  of  officers 
had  suggested  that  since  the  mutineers  were  not  in  their 
lines,  they  might  be  looting  the  European  cantonments. 
So  the  two  thousand  returned  thither,  after  firing  that  one 
volley  into  a  wood,  and  then  finding  all  quiet  to  the  north 
proceeded  to  bivouac  on  the  parade  ground  for  the  night. 
Not  a  very  peaceful  spot,  since  it  was  within  sight  and 
sound  of  blazing  roof-trees  and  plundering  ruffians. 
The  worst  horrors  of  that  night,  we  are  told,  can  never 
be  known.  Perhaps  some  people  beg  to  differ,  holding 
that  no  horror  can  exceed  the  thought  of  women  and 
children  hiding  like  hares  on  that  southern  side,  creeping 
for  dear  life  from  one  friendly  shadow  to  another,  and 
finding  help  in  dark  hands  where  white  ones  failed  them, 
within  reach  of  that  bivouac.  But  the  faithful  troop 
did  good  service,  and  many  another  band  of  independent 
braves  also.  Captain  Craigie,  finding  leisure  at  last, 
found  also — it  is  a  relief  to  know — that  some  of  his  own 
men  had  sneaked  away  from  duty  to  secure  his  wife's 
safety  when  they  saw  their  Captain  would  not.  And  if 
anything  can  relieve  the  deadly  depression  which  sinks 
upon  the  soul  at  the  thought  of  that  horrible  lack  of 
emotion  in  the  north,  it  is  to  picture  that  very  different 
scene  on  the  south,  when  Captain  Craigie,  seeing  his  only 
hope  of  getting  the  ladies  safely  escorted  to  the  Euro- 
pean barracks  lay  in  his  troopers,  brought  the  two  Eng- 
lishwomen out  to  them  and  said,  simply,  "  Here  are  the 
mems!      Save  them." 

And  then  the  two  score  or  so  of  rough  men,  swash- 
bucklers by  birth  and  training,  flung  themselves  from 
their  horses,  cast  themselves  at  those  alien  women's  feet 
with  tears  and  oaths.     Oaths  that  were  kept. 


NIGHT.  20 1 

But,  on  the  other  side,  people  were  more  placid.  One 
reads  of  Englishmen  watching  "  their  own  sleeping  chil- 
dren with  gratitude  in  their  hearts  to  God,"  with  wonder- 
ings  as  "  to  the  fate  of  their  friends  in  the  south,"  with 
anticipations  of  "  what  would  befall  their  Christian  breth- 
ren in  Delhi  on  the  coming  morn,  w^ho,  less  happy  than 
ourselves,  had  no  faithful  and  friendly  European  bat- 
talions to  shield  them  from  the  bloodthirsty  rage  of  the 
sepoys." 

What,  indeed?  considering  that  for  two  hours  bands  of 
armed  men  had  clattered  and  marched  down  that  divid- 
ing road  crying  "  To  Delhi,  to  Delhi!  "  But  no  warning 
of  the  coming  danger  had  been  sent  thither;  the  con- 
fusion had  been  too  great.  And  now.  about  midnight, 
the  telegraph  wires  had  been  cut.  Yet  Delhi  lay  but 
thirty  miles  oft'  along  a  broad  white  road,  and  there  were 
horses  galore  and  men  ready  to  ride  them.  Men  ready 
for  more  than  that,  like  Captain  Rosser  of  the  Carabin- 
eers, who  pleaded  for  a  squadron,  a  field  battery,  a  troop, 
a  gun — anything  with  which  to  dash  down  the  road  and 
cut  off  that  retreat  to  Delhi.  But  everything  was  refused. 
Lieutenant  jMohler  of  the  nth  offered  to  ride,  and  at 
least  give  warning ;  but  that  offer  was  also  set  aside.  And 
many  another  brave  man,  no  doubt,  bound  to  obey 
orders,  ate  his  heart  out  in  inaction  that  night,  possess- 
ing himself  in  some  measure  of  patience  with  the  thought 
that  the  dawn  must  see  them  on  that  Delhi  road. 

But  there  was  one  man  wdio  ow^ed  obedience  to  none; 
w^ho  was  free  to  go  if  he  chose.  And  he  did  choose. 
Ten  minutes  after  it*  dawned  upon  Herbert  Erlton  that 
no  warning  had  been  given,  that  no  succor  would  be  sent, 
he  had  changed  horses  for  the  game  little  Arab  which 
had  once  belonged  to  Jim  Douglas,  and  was  off,  to  reach 
Delhi  as  best  he  could ;  for  a  woman  slept  in  the  very  city 
itself  exposed  to  the  first  assault  of  ruffianism,  whom  he 
must  save,  if  he  could.  So  he  set  his  teeth  and  rode 
straight.  At  first  down  the  road,  for  the  last  of  the 
fugitives  had  had  a  good  hour's  start  of  him,  and  he 
could  count  on  four  or  five  miles  plain  sailing.  Then, 
since  his  object  w^as  to  head  the  procession,  and  he  did 
not  dare  to  strike  across  country  from  his  utter  ignor- 


202  O.V    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

ance  both  of  the  way  or  how  to  ask  it,  he  must  give  the 
road  a  half-mile  berth  or  so,  and,  keeping  it  as  a  guide, 
make  his  way  somehow.  There  were  bridges  he  knew 
where  he  must  hark  back  to  the  only  path,  but  he  must 
trust  to  luck  for  a  quiet  interval. 

The  plan  proved  more  difficult  than  he  expected. 
More  than  once  he  found  himself  in  danger  from  being 
too  close  to  the  disciplined  tramp  which  he  began  to  over- 
take about  six  miles  out,  and  twice  he  lost  himself  from 
being  too  far  away,  by  mistaking  one  belt  of  trees  for 
another.  Still  there  was  plenty  of  time  if  the  Arab  held 
out  with  his  weight.  The  night  was  hot  and  stifling, 
but  if  he  took  it  coolly  till  the  road  was  pretty  clear  again 
he  could  forge  ahead  in  no  time;  for  the  Arab  had  the 
heels  of  every  horse  in  Upper  India.  Major  Erlton  knew 
this,  and  bent  over  to  pat  its  neck  with  the  pride  of  cer- 
tainty with  which  he  had  patted  it  before  many  a  race 
which  it  had  won  for  him  since  it  had  lost  one  for  Jim 
Douglas. 

So  he  saved  it  all  he  knew;  but  he  rode  fourteen  stone, 
and  that,  over  jumps,  must  tell.  There  was  no  other  way, 
however,  that  he  knew  of,  by  which  an  Englishman 
could  head  that  procession  of  shouting  black  devils. 

One  headed  already,  as  it  happened;  though  he  wa.s 
unaware  of  the  supreme  importance  of  the  fact,  ignorant 
of  what  lay  behind  him.  Jim  Douglas,  who  had  left 
Meerut  all  unwitting  of  that  rescue  party  on  its  way  to 
the  jail,  was  still  about  a  mile  from  the  halfway  house 
where  he  expected  to  find  his  relay.  He  had  had  the 
greates-t  difficulty  in  getting  the  drugged  mare  to  go 
at  all  at  first,  and  more  than  once  had  regretted  having 
refused  old  Tiddu's  advice.  She  had  pulled  herself  to- 
gether a  bit,  but  she  was  in  a  drip  of  sweat  and  still  shaky 
on  her  feet.  Not  that  it  mattered,  he  being  close  now  to 
Begum-a-bad,  with  plenty  of  time  to  reach  Delhi  by 
dawn. 

He  rather  preferred  to  pace  slowly,  his  feet  out  of  the 
stirrups,  his  slight,  easy  figure  dressed,  as  it  always  was 
when  in  English  costume,  with  the  utmost  daintiness, 
sitting  well  back  in  the  saddle.  For  the  glamour  of  the 
moonlight,  the   stillness  of  the   night,  possessed  him. 


NIGHT,  203 

Everything  so  soundless  save  when  the  jackals  began; 
there  were  a  number  of  them  about.  A  good  hunting 
country;  the  memory  of  many  a  run  in  his  youtiiful  days, 
with  a  bobbery  pack,  came  to  him.  After  all  he  had  had 
the  cream  of  life  in  a  way.  Few  men  had  enjoyed  theirs 
more,  for  even  this  idle  pacing  through  the  stillness  was 
a  pleasure.  Pleasure?  How  many  he  had  had!  His 
mind,  reverting  from  one  to  another,  thought  even  of 
the  owner  of  the  golden  curl  without  regret.  She  had 
taught  him  the  religion  of  Love,  the  adoration  of  a  spot- 
less woman.  And  Zora,  dear  little  ^ora,  had  taught  him 
the  purity  of  passion.  And  then  his  mind  went  back 
suddenly  to  a  scene  of  his  boyhood.  A  boy  of  eighteen 
carrying  a  girl  of  sixteen  who  held  a  string  of  sea-trout 
midway  in  a  wide,  deep  ford.  And  he  heard,  as  if  it  had 
been  yesterday,  the  faint  splash  of  the  fish  as  they  slipped 
one  by  one  into  the  water,  and  felt  the  fierce  fighting  of 
the  girl  to  be  set  down,  his  own  stolid  resistance,  their 
mutual  abuse  of  each  other's  obstinacy  and  carelessness. 
Yes!  he  wo«ild  like  to  see  his  sisters  again,  to  know  that 
pleasure  again.  Then  his  mind  took  another  leap. 
AHce  Gissing  had  not  struggled  in  his  hold,  because  she 
had  been  in  unison  with  his  ideal  of  conduct;  but  if  she 
had  not  been,  she  would  have  fought  as  viciously,  as  un- 
consciously as  any  sister.     Alice  Gissing,  who He 

settled  his  feet  into  the  stirrups  sternly,  thinking  of  that 
telegram  with  its  one  word  "  Come,"  which  ended  so 
many  chances. 

Hark!  What  was  that?  A  clatter  of  hoofs  behind. 
And  something  more,  surely.  A  jingle,  a  jangle,  familiar 
to  a  soldier's  ears.  Cavalry  at  the  gallop.  He  drew 
aside  hastily  into  the  shadow  of  the  arcaded  trees  and 
waited. 

Cavalry,  no  doubt.  And  the  moon  shone  on  their 
drawn  sabers.  By  Heaven!  Troopers  of  the  3d! 
Half  a  dozen  or  more! 

"  Shah  hash,  brothers,"  cried  one  as  they  swept  past, 
"  we  can  breathe  our  beasts  a  bit  at  Begum-a-bad  and 
let  the  others  come  up ;  no  need  to  reach  Delhi  ere  dawn. 
The  Palace  would  be  closed." 

Delhi!     The    Palace!     And    who    were    the    others? 


204  O.V    THE   FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

That,  if  they  were  coming  behind,  could  soon  be  settled. 
He  turned  the  Belooch  and  trotted  her  back  in  the 
shadow,  straining  eyes  and  ears  down  the  tree-fringed 
road  which  lay  so  still,  so  white,  so  silent. 

Something  was  on  it  now,  but  something  silent,  almost 
ghost-like, — an  old  man,  muttering  texts,  on  a  lame 
camel  which  bumped  along  as  even  no  earthly  camel 
ought  to  bump.     That  could  not  be  the  "  others." 

No!  Surely  that  was  a  thud,  a  jingle,  a  clatter  once 
more.  And  once  more  the  glitter  of  cold  steel  in  the 
moonlight.  Forty  or  fifty  of  the  3d  this  time,  with 
stragglers  calling  to  others  still  further  behind,  "  To 
Delhi!     To  Delhi!     To  Victory  or  Death!  " 

As  he  stood  waiting  for  them  all  to  pass  ere  he  moved, 
his  first  thought  was,  that  with  all  these  armed  men  at 
Begum-a-bad  there  would  be  no  chance  of  a  removmt. 
Then  came  a  swift  wonder  as  to  what  had  happened.  A 
row  of  some  sort,  of  course,  and  these  men  had  fled.  Ere 
long,  no  doubt,  a  squadron  of  Carabineers  would  come 
rattling  after  them.  No!  That  was  not  cavalry.  That 
was  infantry  in  the  distance.  Quite  a  number  of  men 
shouting  the  same  cry.  Men  of  the  20th,  to  judge  by 
what  he  could  see.  Then  the  row  had  been  a  big  one. 
Still  the  men  were  evidently  fugitives.  There  was  that 
in  their  recurring  cry  which  told  of  almost  hopeless, 
reckless  enthusiasm. 

And  how  the  devil  was  he  to  get  his  remount?  It  was 
to  be  at  the  serai  on  the  roadside,  the  very  place  where 
these  men  would  rest.  Yet  he  must  get  to  Delhi,  he 
must  get  there  sharp!  The  possibility  that  Delhi  was 
unwarned  did  not  occur  to  him;  he  only  thought  how 
he  might  best  get  there  in  time  for  the  row  which  must 
come.  Should  he  wait  for  the  English  troops  to  come 
up,  and  chance  his  remount  being  coolly  taken  by  the 
first  rebel  who  wanted  one?  Or,  Delhi  being  not  more 
than  fifteen  miles  ofif  across  country,  should  he  take  the 
mare  as  far  as  she  would  go,  leave  her  in  some  field,  and 
do  the  rest  on  foot?  He  looked  at  his  watch.  Half-past 
one!  Say  five  miles  in  half  an  hour.  The  mare  was  good 
for  that.     Then  ten  miles,  at  five  miles  an  hour.     The 


NIGHT.  205 

very  first  g-limmer  of  light  should  see  him  at  the  boat- 
bridge  if — if  the  mare  could  gallop  five  miles. 

He  must  try  her  a  bit  slowly  at  first.  So,  slipping 
across  the  broad,  white  streak  of  road  to  the  Delhi  side, 
he  took  her  slanting  through  the  tall  tiger  grass,  for  they 
were  close  on  a  nullah  which  must  be  forded  by  a  rather 
deep  ford  lower  down,  since  the  bridge  was  denied  to 
him.  About  half  a  mile  from  the  road  he  came  upon  the 
track  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  high  tamarisk  jungle 
growing  in  heavy  sand,  and  the  next  moment  was  on  the 
shining  levels  of  the  ford.  The  mare  strained  on  his 
hand,  and  he  paused  to  let  her  have  a  mouthful  of  water. 
As  she  stood  there,  head  down,  a  horseman  at  the  canter 
showed  suddenly,  silently,  behind  him,  not  five  yards 
away,  his  horse's  hoofs  deadened  by  the  sand. 

There  was  a  nasty  movement,  an  ominous  click  on 
both  sides.  But  the  moon  was  too  bright  for  mistakes; 
the  recognition  was  mutual. 

"  My  God,  Erlton!  "  he  cried,  as  the  other,  without  a 
pause,  went  on  into  the  ford.     "  What's  up?  " 

"  Is  it  fordable?  "  came  the  quick  question,  and  as  Jim 
Douglas  for  an  answer  gave  a  dig  with  his  spurs,  the 
Major  slackened  visibly;  his  eye  telling  him  that  the 
depth  could  not  be  taken,  save  at  a  walk. 

"  What's  up?  "  he  echoed  fiercely.  "  Mutiny!  murder! 
I  say,  how  far  am  I  from  Delhi?"' 

"  Delhi!  "  cried  Jim  Douglas,  his  voice  keen  as  a  knife. 
"  By  Heaven!  you  don't  mean  they  don't  know — that  they 
didn't  wire — but  the  troops " 

"  Hadn't  started  when  I  left,"  said  the  Major  with  a 
curse.  "  I  came  *on  alone.  I  say,  Douglas,"  he  gave 
a  sharp  glance  zX  the  other's  mount  and  there  was  a 
pause. 

"  My  mare's  beat — been  drugged,"  said  Jim  Douglas 
in  the  swish-swish  of  the  water  rising  higher  and  higher 
on  the  horses'  breasts,  and  there  was  a  curious  tone  in 
his  voice  as  if  he  was  arguing  out  something  to  him- 
self. "  I've  a  remount  at  the  serai,  but  the  odds  are  a 
hundred  to  one  on  my  getting  it.  I'd  given  up  the 
chance  of  it.  I  meant  to  take  the  mare  as  many  miles 
across    country    as    she'd    go — more,    perhaps — for    she 


2o6  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

feels  like  falling  at  a  fence,  and  walk  the  rest.     I  didn't 

know  then "     He  paused  and  looked  ahead.     The 

water,  up  to  the  girths,  made  a  curious  rushing  sound, 
like  many  wings.  The  long,  shiny  levels  stretched  away 
softly,  mysteriously.  The  tamarisk  jungle  reflected  in 
the  water  seemed  almost  as  real  as  that  which  edged  the 
shining  sky.  A  white  egret  stood  in  the  shallows;  tall, 
ghostly. 

''  I  thought  it  was  only — a  row." 

The  voice  ceased  again,  the  breathings  of  the  tired 
horses  had  slackened ;  there  was  no  sound  but  that  rush- 
ing, as  of  wings,  as  those  two  enemies  rode  side  by  side, 
looking  ahead.     Suddenly  Jim  Douglas  turned. 

"  You  ride  nigh  four  stone  heavier  than  I  do.  Major 
Erlton." 

The  heavy,  handsome  face  came  round  swiftly,  all 
broken  up  with  sheer  passion. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  haven't  been  thinking  that  ever 
since  I  saw  your  cursed  face.  And  you  know  the  coun- 
try, and  I  don't.  You  know  the  lingo,  and  I  don't. 
And — and — you're  a  deuce  sight  better  rider  than  I  am, 

d n  you!     But  for  all  that,  it's  my  chance,  I  tell  you. 

My  chance,  not  yours." 

A  great  surge  of  sympathy  swept  through  the  other 
man's  veins.  But  the  water  was  shallowing  rapidly. 
A  step  or  two  and  this  must  be  decided. 

"  It's  yours  more  than  mine,"  he  said  slowly,  "  but  it 
isn't  ours,  is  it?     It's  the  others',  in  Delhi." 

•Herbert  Erlton  gave  an  odd  sound  between  a  sob  and 
an  oath,  a  savage  jag  at  the  bridle  as  the  little  Arab,  over- 
weighted, slipped  a  bit  coming  up  the'l^ank.  Then,  with- 
out a  word,  he  flung  himself  from  the  saddle  and  set  to 
work  on  the  stirrup  nearest  him. 

"  How  many  holes?  "  he  asked  gruffly,  as  Jim  Doug- 
las, with  a  great  ache  in  his  heart,  left  the  Belooch  stand- 
ing, and  began  on  the  otlier. 

"  Three;  you're  a  good  bit  longer  in  the  leg  than  I  am." 

"  I  suppose  I  am,"  said  the  Major  sullenly;  but  he  held 
the  stirrup  for  the  other  to  mount. 

Jim  Douglas  gathered  the  reins  in  his  hand  and 
paused. 


NIGHT.  207 

"  You  had  better  walk  her  back.  Keep  more  to  the 
left;  it's  easier." 

"  Oh!  I'll  do,"  came  the  sullen  voice.  "  Stop  a  bit,  the 
curb's  too  tight." 

"  Take  it  off,  will  you?  he  knows  me." 

Major  Erlton  gave  an  odd,  quick,  bitter  laugh.  "  I 
suppose  he  does.     Right  you  are." 

He  stood,  putting  the  curb  chain  into  his  pocket, 
mechanically,  but  Jim  Douglas  paused  again. 

"  Good-by!     Shake  hands  on  it,  Erlton." 

The  Major  looked  at  him  resentfully,  the  big,  coarse 
hand  came  reluctantly;  but  the  touch  of  that  other  like 
iron  in  its  grip,  its  determination,  seemed  to  rouse  some- 
thing deeper  than  anger. 

"  The  odds  are  on  you,"  he  said,  with  a  quiver  in  his 
voice.  "  You'll  look  after  her — not  my  wife,  she's  in  can- 
tonments— but  in  the  city,  you  know." 

The  voice  broke  suddenly.  He  threw  out  one  hand 
in  a  sort  of  passionate  despair,  and  walked  over  to  the 
Belooch. 

"  I'll  do  everything  vou  could  possiblv  do  in  mv  place, 
Erlton." 

The  words  came  clear  and  stern,  and  the  next  instant 
the  thud  of  the  Arab's  galloping  hoofs  filled  the  still 
night  air.  The  sound  sent  a  spasm  of  angry  pain 
through  IMajor  Erlton.  The  chance  had  been  his,  and 
he  had  had  to  give  it  up  because  he  rode  three  stone 
heavier;  and,  curse  it!  knew  only  too  well  what  a  dif- 
ference a  pound  or  two  might  make  in  a  race. 

Nevertheless  Jim  Douglas  had  been  right  when  he 
said  the  chance  was  neither  his  nor  the  ]\Iajor's.  For, 
less  than  an  hour  afterward,  riding  all  he  knew,  doing 
his  level  best,  the  Arab  put  his  foot  in  a  rat  hole  just  as 
his  rider  was  congratulating  himself  on  having  headed 
the  rebels,  just  as,  across  the  level  plain  stretching  from 
Ghazeabad  to  the  only  bridge  over  the  Jumna,  he  fancied 
he  could  see  a  big  shadowy  bubble  on  the  western  sky, 
the  dome  of  the  Delhi  mosque.  Put  its  foot  in  a  rat  hole 
and  came  down  heavily!  The  last  thing  Jim  Douglas 
saw  was — on  the  road  which  he  had  hoped  to  rejoin  in 
a  minute  or  two — a  strange  ghostlike  figure.     An  old 


2o8  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

man  on  a  lame  camel,  which  bumped  along  as  even  no 
earthly  camel  ought  to  bump. 

As  he  fell,  the  rushing  roar  in  his  ears  which  heralds 
unconsciousness  seemed  by  a  freak  of  memory  to  take  a 
familiar  rhythm: 

"  La  !  il-lah-il-Ullaho  !     La  !  il-lah-il-Ul-la-ho  ! " 


CHAPTER  11. 

DAWN. 

The  chill  wind  which  comes  with  dawn  swayed  the  tall 
grass  beyond  the  river,  and  ruffling  the  calm  stretches 
below  the  Palace  w-all  died  away  again  as  an  oldish  man 
stepped  out  of  a  reed  hut,  built  on  a  sandbank  beside  the 
boat-bridge,  and  looked  eastward.  He  was  a  poojari, 
or  master  of  ceremonial  at  the  bathing-place  where, 
with  the  first  streak  of  light,  the  Hindoos  came  to  per- 
form their  religious  ablutions.  So  he  had  to  be  up  be- 
times, in  order  to  prepare  the  little  saucers  of  vermilion 
and  sandal  and  sacred  gypsum  needed  in  his  profession; 
for  he  earned  his  livelihood  by  inherited  right  of  hall- 
marking his  fellow-creatures  with  their  caste-signs  when 
they  came  up  out  of  the  water.  Thus  he  looked  out  over 
those  eastern  plains  for  the  dawn,  day  after  day.  He  looks 
for  it  still;  this  account  is  from  his  lips.  And  this  dawn 
there  was  a  cloud  of  dust  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand 
upon  the  Meerut  road.     Someone  was  coming  to  Delhi. 

But  someone  was  already  on  the  bridge,  for  it  creaked 
and  swayed,  sending  little  shivers  of  ripples  down  the 
calm  stretches.  The  poojari  turned  and  looked  to  see 
the  cause;  then  turned  eastward  again.  It  was  only  a 
man  on  a  camel  with  a  strange  gait,  bumping  noiselessly 
even  on  the  resounding  wood.     That  was  all. 

The  city  was  still  asleep;  though  here  and  there  a 
widow  was  stealing  out  in  her  white  shroud  for  that 
touch  of  the  sacred  river  without  which  she  would  indeed 
be  accursed.  And  in  a  little  mosque  hard  by  the  road 
from  the  boat-bridsfc  a  muezzin  was  about  to  sfive  the 


Da  li^iV.  ^09 

very  first  call  to  prayer  with  pious  self-complacency. 
But  someone  was  ahead  of  him  in  devotion,  for,  upon  the 
still  air,  came  a  continuous  rolling  of  chanted  texts.  The 
muezzin  leaned  over  the  parapet,  disappointed,  to  see 
who  had  thus  forestalled  him  at  heaven's  gate;  stared, 
then  muttered  a  hasty  charm.  Were  there  visions  about? 
The  suggestion  softened  the  disappointment,  and  he 
looked  after  the  strange,  wild  figure,  half-seen  in  the 
shimmering,  shadowy  dawn-light,  with  growing  and 
awed  satisfaction.  This  was  no  mere  mortal,  this  green- 
clad  figure  on  a  camel,  chanting  texts  and  waving  a 
scimitar.  A  vision  has  been  vouchsafed  to  him  for  his 
diligence;  a  vision  that  would  not  lose  in  the  telling.  So 
he  stood  vip  and  gave  the  cry  from  full  lungs. 

"  Prayer  is  more  than  sleep!  than  sleep!  than  sleep!  " 
The  echo  from  the  rose-red  fortifications  took  it  up 
first;  then  one   chanting  voice   after  another,   monoto- 
nously insistent. 

"  Prayer  is  more  than  sleep!  than  sleep!  than  sleep!  " 
And  the  city  woke  to  another  day  of  fasting.  Woke 
hurriedly,  so  as  to  find  time  for  food  ere  the  sun  rose, 
for  it  was  Rumzan,  and  one-half  of  the  inhabitants  would 
have  no  drop  of  water  till  the  sun  set,  to  assuage  the 
terrible  drought  of  every  living,  growing  thing  beneath 
the  fierce  May  sun.  The  backwaters  lay  like  a  steel 
mirror  reflecting  the  gray  shadowy  pile  of  the  Palace,  the 
poojari — waist-deep  in  them — was  a  solitary  figure  fling- 
ing water  to  the  sacred  airts,  absorbed  in  a  thorough  puri- 
fication from  sin. 

Then  from  the  serrated  line  of  the  Ridge  came  a  bugle 
followed  by  the  roll  of  a  time  gun.  All  the  world  was 
waking  now.  Waking  to  give  orders,  to  receive  them; 
waking  to  mark  itself  apart  with  signs  of  salvation;  wak- 
ing to  bow  westward  and  pray  for  the  discomfiture  of  the 
infidel;  waking  to  stand  on  parade  and  salute  the  royal 
standard  of  a  ruler,  hell-doomed  inevitably,  according 
to  both  creeds. 

A  flock  of  purple  pigeons,  startled  by  the  sound,  rose 
like  cloud  flakes  on  the  light  gray  sky  above  the  glimmer- 
ing dome  of  the  big  mosque,  then  flew  westward  toward 
the  green  fields    and  groves  on  the  further  side  of   the 


210  OM   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

town.  For  the  roll  of  the  gun  was  followed  by  a  rever- 
berating roll,  and  groan,  and  creak,  from  the  boat-bridge. 
The  little  cloud  on  the  Meerut  road  had  grown  into  five 
troopers  dashing  over  the  bridge  at  a  gallop  recklessly. 
The  poojari,  busy  now  with  his  pigments,  followed  them 
with  his  eyes  as  they  clattered  straight  for  the  city  gate. 
They  were  waking  in  the  Palace  now,  for  a  slender  hand 
set  a  lattice  wide.  Perhaps  from  curiosity,  perhaps 
simply  to  let  in  the  cool  air  of  dawn.  It  was  a  lattice  in 
the  women's  apartments. 

The  poojari  went  on  rubbing  up  the  colors  that  were  to 
bring  such  spiritual  pride  to  the  wearers,  then  turned  to 
look  again.  The  troopers,  finding  the  city  gate  closed, 
were  back  again ;  clamoring  for  admittance  through  the 
low  arched  doorway  leading  from  Selimgarh  to  the 
Palace.  And  as  the  yawning  custodian  fumbled  for  his 
keys,  the  men  cursed  and  swore  at  the  delay;  for  in  truth 
they  knew  not  what  lay  behind  them.  The  two  thou- 
sand from  Meerut,  or  some  of  them,  of  course.  But  at 
what  distance? 

As  a  matter  of  fact  only  one  Englishman  was  close 
enough  to  be  considered  a  pursuer,  and  he  was  but  a 
poor  creature  on  foot,  still  dazed  by  a  fall,  striking 
across  country  to  reach  the  Raj -ghat  ferry  below  the 
city.  For  when  Jim  Douglas  had  recovered  conscious- 
ness it  had  been  to  recognize  that  he  was  too  late  to  be 
the  first  in  Delhi,  and  that  he  could  only  hope  to  help  in 
the  struggle.  And  that  tardily,  for  the  Arab  was  dead 
lame. 

So,  removing  its  saddle  and  bridle  to  give  it  a  better 
chance  of  escaping  notice,  he  had  left  it  grazing  peace- 
fully in  a  field  and  stumbled  on  riverward,  intending  to 
cross  it  as  best  he  could ;  and  so  make  for  his  own  house 
in  Duryagunj  for  a  fresh  horse  and  a  more  suitable  kit. 
And  as  he  plodded  along  doggedly  he  cursed  the  sheer 
ill-luck  which  had  made  him  late. 

For  he  was  late. 

The  five  troopers  were  already  galloping  through  the 
grape-garden  toward  the  women's  apartments  and  the 
King's  sleeping  rooms. 

Their  shouts  of  "The  King!     The  King!     Help  for 


DAIVM.  211 

the  martyrs!  Help  for  the  Ploly  War!"  dumfoundered 
the  court  muezzin,  who  was  going  late  to  his  prayers 
in  the  Pearl  Mosque;  the  reckless  hoofs  sent  a  squatting 
bronze  image  of  a  gardener,  threading  jasmine  chaplets 
for  his  gods  peacefully  in  the  pathway,  flying  into  a 
rose  bush. 

"The  King!     The  King!     Help!     Help!" 

The  women  woke  w'ith  the  cry,  confused,  alarmed,  sur- 
prised; save  one  or  two  who,  creeping  to  the  Queen's 
room,  found  her  awake,  excited,  calling  to  her  maids. 

"Too  soon!"  she  echoed  contemptuously.  "Can 
a  good  thing  come  too  soon?  Quick,  woman — I  must 
see  the  King  at  once — nay,  I  will  go  as  I  am  if  it  comes 
to  that." 

"  The  physician  Ahsan-Oolah  hath  arrived  as  usual 
for  the  dawn  pulse-feeling,"  protested  the  shocked 
tirewoman. 

"  All  the  more  need  for  hurry,"  retorted  Zeenut  ^Nlaihl. 
"  Quick!     Slippers  and  a  veil!     Thine  will  do,  Fatma; 

sure  what  makes  thee  decent "    She  gave  a  spiteful 

laugh  as  she  snatched  it  from  the  Avoman's  head  and 
passed  to  the  door;  but  there  she  paused  a  second.  "  See 
if  Hafzan  be  below.  I  bid  her  come  early,  so  she  should 
be.  Tell  her  to  write  word  to  Hussan  Askuri  to  dream  as 
he  never  dreamed  before!  And  see,"  her  voice  grew 
shriller,  keener,  "  the  rest  of  you  have  leave.  Go!  cozen 
every  man  you  know,  every  man  you  meet.  I  care  not 
how.  Make  their  blood  flow!  I  care  not  wherefore,  so 
that  it  leaps  and  bounds,  and  would  spill  other  blood 
that  checked  it."  She  clenched  her  hands  as  she  passed 
on  muttering  to  herself.  "  Ah!  if  he  were  a  man — if  his 
blood  were  not  chilled  with  age — if  I  had  someone " 

She  broke  off  into  smiles;  for  in  the  anteroom  she 
entered  was,  man  or  no  man,  the  representative  of  the 
Great  Moghul. 

"  Ah,  Zeenut!  "  he  cried  in  tones  of  relief.  "  I  would 
have  sought  thee."  The  trembling,  shrunken  figure  in 
its  wadded  silk  dressing  gown  paused  and  gave  a  back- 
ward glance  at  Ahsan-Oolah,  whose  shrewd  face  was  full 
of  alarm. 

"Believe  nothing,  my  liege!"   he  protested  eagerly. 


212  (9V   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

"  These  rioters  are  boasters.  Are  there  not  two  thousand 
British  soldiers  in  Meerut?  Their  tale  is  not  possible. 
They  are  cowards  fled  from  defeat;  liars,  hoping  to  be 
saved  at  your  expense.     The  thing  is  impossible." 

The  Queen  turned  on  him  passionately.  "  Are  not  all 
things  possible  with  God,  and  is  not  His  Majesty  the 
defender  of  the  faith !  " 

"  But  not  defender  of  five  runaway  rioters,"  sneered 
the  physician.     "  My  liege!     Remember  your  pension." 

Zeenut  Maihl  glared  at  his  cunning;  it  was  an  argu- 
ment needing  all  her  art  to  combat. 

"  Five!  "  she  echoed,  passing  to  the  lattice  quickly. 
"  Then  miracles  are  about — the  five  have  grown  to  fifty. 
Look,  my  lord,  look!  Hark!  How  they  call  on  the  de- 
fender of  the  faith." 

With  reckless  hand  she  set  the  lattice  wide,  so  becom- 
ing visible  for  an  instant,  and  a  shout  of  "The  Queen! 
The  Queen !  "  mingled  with  that  other  of  "  The  Faith ! 
The  Faith!  Lead  us.  Oh!  Ghazee-o-din-Bahadur-shah, 
to  die  for  the  faith." 

Pale  as  he  was  with  age,  the  cry  stirred  the  blood  in 
the  King's  veins  and  sent  it  to  his  face. 

"  Stand  back,"  he  cried  in  sudden  dignity,  waving 
both  counselors  aside  with  trembling,  outstretched  hands. 
"  I  will  speak  mine  own  words." 

But  the  sight  of  him,  rousing  a  fresh  burst  of  enthusi- 
asm, left  him  no  possibility  of  speech  for  a  time.  The 
Lord  had  been  on  their  side,  they  cried.  They  had 
killed  every  hell-doomed  infidel  in  Meerut!  They  would 
do  so  in  Delhi  if  he  would  help!  They  were  but  an  ad- 
vance guard  of  an  army  coming  from  every  cantonment 
in  India  to  swear  allegiance  to  the  Padishah.  Long  live 
the  King!  and  the  Queen! 

In  the  dim  room  behind,  Zeenut  Maihl  and  the  phy- 
sician listened  to  the  wild,  almost  incredible,  tale  which 
drifted  in  with  the  scented  air  from  the  garden,  and 
watched  each  other  silently.  Each  found  in  it  fresh 
cause  for  obstinacy.  If  this  w^ere  true,  what  need  to  be 
foolhardy?  time  would  show,  the  thing  come  of  itself 
without  risk.  If  this  were  true,  decisive  action  should 
be  taken  at  once;  and  would  be  taken. 


DAWN.  213 

But  the  King,  assailed,  molested  by  that  rude  inter- 
rupting loyalty,  above  all  by  that  cry  of  the  Queen,  felt 
the  Turk  stir  in  him  also.  Who  were  these  intruders  in 
the  sacred  precincts,  infringing  the  seclusion  of  the  Great 
Moghul's  women?  Trembling  with  impotent  passion, 
inherited  from  passions  that  had  not  been  impotent,  he 
turned  to  Ahsan-Oolah,  ignoring  the  Queen,  who,  he 
felt,  was  mostly  to  blame  for  this  outrage  on  her  modesty. 
Why  had  she  come  there?  Why  had  she  dared  to  be 
seen? 

■  \'our  Majesty  should  send  for  the  Captain  of  the 
Palace  Guai-ds  and  bid  him  disperse  the  rioters,  and  force 
them  into  respect  for  your  royal  person,"  suggested  the 
physician,  carefully  avoiding  all  but  the  immediate 
present,  "  and  your  Majesty  should  pass  to  the  Hall  of 
Audience.  The  King  can  scarce  receive  the  Captain- 
sahib  here  in  presence  of  the  Consort."  He  did  not 
add — "  in  her  present  costume  " — but  his  tone  implied 
it,  and  the  King,  with  an  angry  mortified  glance  toward 
his  favorite,  took  the  physician's  arm.  If  looks  could 
kill,  Ahsan-Oolah  would  not,  he  knew,  have  supported 
those  tottering  steps  far;  but  it  was  no  time  to  stick  at 
trifles. 

When  they  had  passed  from  the  anteroom  Zeenut 
Maihl  still  stood  as  if  half  stupefied  by  the  insult.  Then 
she  dashed  to  the  open  lattice  again,  s'cornful  and  defiant ; 
dignified  into  positive  beauty  for  the  moment  by  her 
recklessness. 

"For  the  Faith!"  she  cried  in  her  shrill  woman's 
voice,  "  if  ye  are  men,  as  I  would  be,  to  be  loved  of 
w^oman,  as  I  am,  strike  for  the  Faith!  " 

A  sort  of  shiver  ran  through  the  clustering  crowd  of 
men  below-;  the  shiver  of  anticipation,  of  the  marvelous, 
the  unexpected.  The  Queen  had  spoken  to  them  as 
men;  of  herself  as  w^oman.  Inconceivable! — improper 
of  course — yet  exciting.  Their  blood  thrilled,  the  in- 
stinct of  the  man  to  fight  for  the  woman  rose  at  once. 

"Quick,  brothers!  Rouse  the  guard!  Close  the 
gates!     Close  the  gates!  " 

It  was  a  cry  to  heal  all  strife  within  those  rose-red 
walls,  for  the  dearest  wish  of  every  faction  was  to  close 


2  14  O.V    THE   FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

them  against  civilization;  against  those  prying  Western 
eyes  and  sniffing  Western  noses,  detecting  drains  and 
sinks  of  iniquity.  So  the  clamor  grew,  and  faces  which 
had  frowned  at  each  other  yesterday  sought  support  in 
each  other's  ferocity  to-day,  and  wild  tales  began  to  pass 
from  mouth  to  mouth.  Men,  crowding  recklessly  over 
the  flower-beds,  trampling  down  the  roses,  talked  of 
visions,  of  signs  and  warnings,  while  the  troopers,  dis- 
mounting for  a  pull  at  a  pipe,  became  the  center  of  eager 
circles  listening  not  to  dreams,  but  deeds. 

"  Dost  feel  the  rope  about  thy  neck.  Sir  Martyr? " 
said  a  bitter  jeering  voice  behind  one  of  the  speakers. 
And  something  gripped  him  round  the  throat  from  be- 
hind, then  as  suddenly  loosed  its  hold,  as  a  shrouded 
woman's  figure  hobbled  on  through  the  crowd.  The 
trooper  started  up  with  an  oath,  his  own  hand  seeking 
his  throat  involuntarily. 

"  Heed  her  not!  "  said  a  bystander  hastily,  "  'tis  the 
Queen's  scribe,  Hafzan.  She  hath  a  craze  against  men. 
One  made  her  what  she  is.  Go  on!  Havildar-jee.  So 
thou  didst  cut  the  mem  down,  and  fling  the  babe " 

But  the  doer  of  the  deed  stood  silent.  He  did  in  truth 
seem  to  feel  the  rope  about  his  neck.  And  he  seemed  to 
feel  it  till  he  died ;  when  it  z<}as  there. 

But  Hafzan  had  passed  on,  and  there  were  no  more 
with  words  of  warning.  So  the  clamor  grew  and  grew, 
till  the  garden  swarmed  with  men  ready  for  any  deed. 

Ahsan-Oolah  saw  this,  and  laid  a  detaining  hand  on 
the  Captain  of  the  Guard's  arm,  who,  summoned  in  hot 
haste  from  his  quarters  over  the  Lahore  gate,  came  in  by 
the  private  way,  and  proposed  to  go  down  and  harangue 
the  crowd. 

"  It  is  not  safe,  Huzoor,"  he  cried.  "  My  liege,  detain 
him.  These  men  by  their  own  confession  are  mur- 
derers  " 

The  King  looked  from  one  to  the  other  doubtfully. 
Someone  must  get  rid  of  the  rioters;  yet  the  physician 
said  truth. 

"  And  if  aught  befall,"  added  the  latter  craftily,  "  your 
Majesty  will  be  held  responsible." 

The  old  man's  hand  fell  instantly  on  the  Englishman's 


DA  IV IV.  215 

arm.  "  Nay,  nay,  sahib!  go  not.  Go  not,  my  friend! 
Speak  to  them  from  the  balcony.  They  will  not  dare  10 
violate  it." 

So,  backed  by  the  sanctity  of  the  Audience  Hall  of  a 
dead  dynasty,  the  Englishman  stood  and  ordered  the 
crowd  to  desist  from  profaning  privacy  in  the  name  of 
the  old  man  behind  him;  wdiose  power  he,  in  common 
with  all  his  race,  hoped  and  believed  to  be  dead. 

It  was  sufficient,  however,  to  leave  some  respect  for 
the  royal  person,  and  make  the  crowd  disperse.  To 
little  purpose  so  far  as  peace  and  quiet  went,  since  the 
only  effect  was  to  send  a  leaven  of  revolt  to  every  cor- 
ner of  the  Palace.  And  the  Palace  was  so  full  of  malcon- 
tents, docked  of  power,  privilege,  pensions;  of  all  that 
makes  life  in  a  Palace  worth  living. 

So  the  cry  "  Close  the  gates  "  grew  wider.  The  dazed 
old  King  clung  to  the  Englishman's  arm  imploring  him 
to  stay ;  but  now  a  messenger  came  running  to  say  that 
the  Commissioner-sahib  had  called  and  left  word  that  the 
Captain  was  to  follow  without  delay  to  the  Calcutta  gate 
of  the  city.  The  courtiers,  who  had  begun  to  assemble, 
looked  at  each  other  curiously;  the  disturbance,  then, 
had  spread  beyond  the  Palace.  Could,  then,  this  amaz- 
ing tale  be  true?  The  very  thought  sent  them  cringing 
round  the  old  man,  who  might  ere  long  be  King  indeed. 

Yet  as  the  Captain  dashed  at  a  gallop  past  the  sentries 
standing  calmly  at  the  Lahore  gatt,  there  was  no  sign 
of  trouble  beyond,  and  he  gave  a  quick  glance  of  relief 
back  at  those  cool  quarters  of  his  over  the  arched  tunnel 
where  the  chaplain,  his  daughter,  and  her  friend  were 
staying  as  his  guests.  He  felt  less  fear  of  leaving  them 
when  he  saw  that  the  city  was  waking  to  life  as  always, 
buckling  down  quietly  to  the  burden  and  heat  of  a  new 
day.  It  was  now  past  seven  o'clock,  and  the  sunlight, 
still  cool,  was  bright  enough  to  cleave  all  things  into 
dark  or  light,  shade  or  shine.  Up  on  the  Ridge,  the 
brigade,  after  listening  to  the  sentence  on  the  Barrack- 
pore  mutineers,  was  dispersing  quietly;  many  of  the  men 
with  that  fiat  of  patience  till  the  31st  in  their  minds,  for 
the  carriage-load  of  native  officers  returning  from  the 
Meerut  court-martial  had  come  into  cantonments  late 


2i6  ON    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

the  night  before.  On  the  roofs  of  the  houses  in  the 
learned  quarter  women  were  giving  the  boys  their  break- 
fasts ere  sending  them  off  to  school.  The  milkwomen 
were  trooping  in  cityward  from  the  country,  the  fruit- 
sellers  and  hawkers  trooping  out  Ridge-way  as  usual. 
The  postman  going  his  rounds  had  left  letters,  written  in 
Meerut  the  day  before,  at  two  houses.  And  Kate  Erl- 
ton  returning  from  early  church  had  found  hers  and  was 
reading  it  with  a  scared  face.  Alice  Gissing,  however, 
having  had  that  laconic  telegram,  had  taken  hers  coolly. 
The  decision  had  had  to  be  made,  since  nothing  had  hap- 
pened; and  Herbert  had  the  right  to  make  it.  For  her 
part,  she  could  make  him  happy;  she  had  the  knack  of 
making  most  men  happy,  and  she  herself  was  always 
content  when  the  people  about  her  were  jolly.  So  she 
was  packing  boxes  in  the  back  veranda  of  the  little  house 
on  the  city  wall. 

Thus  she  did  not  see  the  man  who,  between  six  and 
seven  o'clock,  ran  breathlessly  past  her  house,  as  a  short- 
cut to  the  Court  House  from  the  bridge,  taking  a  mes- 
sage from  the  toll-keeper  to  the  nearest  Huzoor,  the 
Collector,  who  was  holding  early  office,  that  a  party  of 
armed  troopers  had  come  down  the  Meerut  road,  that 
more  could  be  seen  coming,  and  would  the  Huzoor 
kindly  issue  orders.  That  first  and  final  suggestion  of 
the  average  native  subordinate  in  any  difficulty. 

Armed  men?  That  might  mean  much  or  nothing. 
Yet  scarcely  anything  really  serious,  or  warning  would 
have  been  sent.  The  Commissioner,  anyhow,  nuist  be 
told.  So  the  Collector  fiung  himself  on  his  horse,  which, 
in  Indian  fashion,  was  waiting  under  a  tree  outside  the 
Court  House,  and  galloped  toward  Ludlow  Castle.  No 
need  for  that  warning,  however,  for  just  by  the  Cashmere 
gate  he  met  the  man  he  sought  driving  furiously  down 
with  a  mounted  escort  to  close  the  city  gates.  He  had 
already  heard  the  news.* 

*(Hovv?  His  house  lay  a  mile  at  least  further  off,  and  the  Collector's 
office  was  on  the  only  route  a  messenger  could  take.  No  record  explains 
this.  But  the  best  ones  mention  casually  that  a  telegram  of  warning 
came  to  Delhi  in  the  early  morning  of  the  iith.  Whence?  the  wires 
to  Meerut  were  cut,     Lahore,   Umballa,  Agra,  did  not  know  the  news 


DA  IVX.  2  I  7 

Gathering  graver  apprehensions  from  this  hasty  meet- 
ing, the  Collector  was  off  again  to  warn  the  Resident, 
then  still  further  to  beg  help  from  cantonments.  No 
delay  here,  no  hesitation.  Simply  a  man  on  a  horse 
doing  his  best  for  the  future,  leaving  the  present  for 
those  on  the  spot. 

Nor  was  there  delay  anywhere.  The  Commissioner, 
calling  by  the  way  for  the  Captain  of  the  (niard,  the 
nearest  man  with  men  under  him,  was  at  the  gate,  giving 
on  the  bridge  of  boats,  by  half-past  seven.  The  Resi- 
dent, calling  on  his  way  at  the  magazine  for  two  guns  to 
sweep  the  bridge,  joined  him  there  soon  after.  Too  late. 
The  enemy  had  crossed,  and  were  in  possession  of  the 
only  ground  commanding  the  bridge.  Nothing  re- 
mained but  to  close  the  gate  and  keep  the  city  quiet  till 
the  columns  of  pursuit  from  Aleerut  should  arrive;  for 
that  there  was  one  upon  the  road  no  one  doubted.  The 
very  rebels  clamoring  at  the  gate  were  listening  for  the 
sound  of  those  following  footsteps.  The  very  fanatics, 
longing  for  another  blow  or  two  at  an  infidel  to  gain 
Paradise  withal  ere  martyrdom  was  theirs,  listened  too; 
for  during  that  moonlit  night  the  certainty  of  failure  had 
been  as  myrrh  and  hyssop  deadening  them  to  the  sacri- 
fice of  life. 

So  the  little  knot  of  Englishmen,  looking  hopefully 
down  the  road,  looked  anxiously  at  each  other,  and 
closed  the  river  gate;  kept  it  closegl,  too,  even  when  the 
20th  claimed  admittance  from  their  friends  the  guard 
within.  For  the  38th  regiment,  whose  turn  it  was  for 
city  work,  was  also  rotten  to  the  core. 

But  they  could  not  close  that  way  through  Selimgarh, 
though  it,  in  truth,  brought  no  trouble  to  the  town.     The 

themselves.  Can  the  story — improbable  in  any  other  history,  but  in  this 
record  of  fatal  mistakes  gaining  a  pathetic  probability — which  the  old 
folk  in  Delhi  tell  be  true  ?  The  story  of  a  telegram  sent  unofficially  from 
■Meerut  the  night  before,  received  while  the  Commissioner  was  at  dinner, 
put  unopened  into  his  pocket,  z.\-\A  fo7-gottcn . 

Not  susceptible  of  proof  or  disproof,  it  certainly  explains  three  things  : 

1.  Whence  the  warning  telegram  came. 

2.  Why  the  Commissioner  received  information  before  a  man  a  good 
mile  nearer  the  source. 

3.  Why  tlie  Collector  ai  once  sought  for  military  aid.) 


2i8  ON    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

men  who  chose  it  being  intriguers,  fanatics,  the  better 
class  of  patriots  more  anxious  to  intrench  themselves  for 
the  struggle  within  walls,  than  to  swarm  into  a  town  they 
could  not  hope  to  hold.  But  there  were  others  of  differ- 
ent mettle,  longing  for  loot  and  license.  The  3d  Cavalry 
had  many  friends  in  Delhi,  especially  in  the  Thunbi 
Bazaar;  so  they  made  for  it  by  braving  the  shallow 
streams  and  shifting  sandbanks  below  the  eastern  wall, 
and  so  gaining  the  Raj -ghat  gate.  Here,  after  compact 
with  vile  friends  in  that  vile  quarter,  they  found  admit- 
tance and  help.     For  what? 

Between  the  bazaar  and  the  Palace  lay  Duryagunj, 
full  of  helpless  Christian  w^omen  and  children;  and  so, 
'^  Dccn!  Dccii!  Fiittch  Mohammed"  the  convenient  Cry 
of  Faith,  was  ready  as,  followed  by  the  rabble  and  refuse 
once  more,  the  troopers  raced  through  the  peaceful  gar- 
dens, pausing  only  to  kill  the  infidels  they  met.  But 
like  a  furious  wind  gathering  up  all  vile  things  in  the 
street  and  carrying  them  along  for  a  space,  then  drop- 
ping them  again,  the  band  left  a  legacy  of  license  and 
sheer  murder  behind  it,  while  it  sped  on  to  loot. 

But  now  the  cry  of  "  Close  the  gates  "  rose  once  more, 
this  time  from  the  shopkeepers,  the  respectable  cjuarters, 
the  secluded  alleys,  and  courtyards.  And  many  a  door 
was  closed  on  the  confusion  and  never  opened  again, 
except  to  pass  in  bare  bread,  for  four  long  months. 

"  Close  the  gates!  Close  the  gates!  Close  the  gates!  " 
The  cry  rose  from  the  Palace,  the  city,  the  little  knot  of 
Englishmen  looking  down  the  Meerut  road.  Yet  no  one 
could  compass  that  closing.  Recruits  swarmed  in 
through  Selimgarh  to  the  Palace.  Robbers  swarmed 
in  through  the  Raj -ghat  gate  to  harry  the  bazaars.  Only 
through  the  Cashmere  gate,  held  by  English  officers  and 
a  guard  of  the  38th,  no  help  came.  The  Collector  arriv- 
ing therein,  hot  from  his  gallop  to  cantonments,  found 
more  wonder  than  alarm;  for  death  was  dealt  in  Delhi 
by  noiseless  cold  steel;  and  the  main-guard  having  to 
be  kept,  in  order  to  secure  retreat  and  safety  to  the  Euro- 
pean houses  around  it,  no  one  had  been  able  to  leave  it. 
And  all  around  was  still  peaceful  utterly;  even  the  roar 
of  growing  tumult  in  the  city  had  not  reached  it.     Sonny 


DAIVN.  219 

Seymour  was  playing  with  his  parrot  in  the  verandfl, 
Ahce  Gissing  packing  boxes  methodically.  The  Col- 
lector galloping  past — as,  scorning  the  suggestion  that  it 
was  needless  risk  to  go  further,  he  replied  briefly,  that 
he  was  the  magistrate  of  the  town,  and  struck  spurs  to 
his  horse — made  some  folk  look  up — that  was  all. 

But  he  could  scarcely  make  his  way  through  the  grow- 
ing crowd,  which,  led  by  troopers,  was  beginning  to  close 
in  behind  the  knot  of  waiting  Englishmen.  And  once 
more  they  looked  down  the  Meerut  road  as  they  heard 
that  some  time  must  elapse  ere  they  could  hope  for  re- 
inforcement. The  guns  could  not  be  got  ready  at  a 
moment's  notice;  nor  could  the  Cashmere  gate  guard 
leave  the  post.     But  the  54th  regiment  should  be  down 

in    about In    about    what?     No    one    asked;    but 

those  waiting  faces  listened  as  for  a  verdict  of  life  and 
death. 

In  about  an  hour. 

An  hour!  And  not  a  cloud  of  dust  upon  the  Meerut 
road. 

"  They  can't  be  long,  though,  now,"  said  the  eldest 
there  hopefully.  "  And  Ripley  will  bring  his  men  down 
at  the  double.  If  we  go  into  the  guard-house  we  can 
hold  our  own  till  then,  surely." 

"  I  can  hold  mine,"  replied  a  young  fellow  with  a 
rough-hewn  homely  face.  He  gave  a  curt  nod  as  he 
spoke  to  a  companion,  and  together  they  turned  back, 
skirting  the  wall,  followed  by  an  older,  burlier  man. 
They  belonged  to  the  magazine,  and  they  were  off  to  see 
the  best  way  of  holding  their  own.  And  they  found 
it — found  it  for  all  time. 

But  fate  had  denied  to  those  other  brave  men  the 
nameless  something  which  makes  men  succeed  together, 
or  die  together.  Within  half  an  hour  they  were  scat- 
tered helplessly.  The  Resident,  after  seeking  support 
from  the  city  police  for  one  whose  name  had  been  a 
terror  to  Delhi  for  fifty  years,  and  finding  insult  instead, 
was  flying  for  dear  life  through  the  Ajmere  gate  to  the 
open  country.  The  Commissioner,  who,  after  seizing  a 
musket  from  a  wavering  guard  beside  him  and — with 
the    first    shot    fired    in    Delhi — shooting   the    foremost 


2  20  C/V    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

trooper  dead,  seems  to  have  lost  hope,  with  mutiny 
around  and  treason  beside  him,  jumped  into  his  buggy 
alone  and  drove  off  to  those  cool  quarters  above  the 
Palace  gate,  as  his  nearest  refuge.  Their  owner,  the 
Captain  sought  like  refuge  by  flinging  himself  into 
the  cover  of  the  dry  moat,  and  creeping — despite  injuries 
from  the  fall — along  it  till  some  of  his  men,  faithful  so 
far,  seeing  him  unable  for  more,  carried  him  to  his  own 
room. 

The  Collector!  Strangely  enough  there  is  no  record 
of  what  the  Magistrate  of  the  city  did,  thus  left  alone. 
He  had  been  wounded  by  the  crowd  at  first,  and  was  no 
doubt  weary  after  his  wild  gallopings.  Still  he,  holding 
his  own  so  far,  managed  to  gain  the  same  refuge,  some- 
how^  What  else  could  he  do  alone?  One  thing  we 
know  he  could  not  do.  That  is,  mount  the  broad,  curv- 
ing flight  of  shallow  stone  stairs  leading  to  the  cool 
upper  rooms.  So  the  chaplain  helped  him;  the  chaplain 
who  had  "  from  an  early  hour  been  watching  the  ad- 
vance of  the  Meerut  mutineers  through  a  telescope  and 
feeling  there  w-as  mischief  in  the  wind." 

^Mischief  indeed!  and  danger;  most  of  all  in  those 
rose-red  walls  within  which  refuge  had  been  sought. 
For  the  King  was  back  in  the  women's  apartments  listen- 
ing to  the  Queen's  cozenings  and  Hussan  Askuri's 
visions,  when  that  urgent  appeal  to  send  dhoolies  to  con- 
vey the  English  ladies  at  the  gate  to  the  security  of  the 
harem  reached  him:  reached  him  in  Ahsan-Oolah's 
warning  voice  of  wisdom.  And  he  listened  to  both  the 
wheedling  ambition  and  the  crafty  policy  with  a  half- 
hearing  for  something  beyond  it  of  pity,  honor,  good 
•faith;  while  Hafzan,  pen  in  hand,  sat  w'ith  her  large  pro- 
foundly sad  eyes  fixed  on  the  old  man's  face,  waiting — 
waiting. 

"If  they  come  here — outcaste!  infidel!  I  go,"  said 
Zeenut  Maihl. 

"  Thou  shalt  go  with  a  bowstring  about  thy  neck, 
woman,  if  I  choose,"  said  the  old  King  fiercely. 
"Write!  girl — the  Queen's  dhoolies  to  the  Lahore  gate 
at  once." 

So,    through    the    swarms    of    pensioners    quarreling 


DAWN.  221 

already  over  new  titles  and  perquisites,  tlirouj2jh  the 
groups  of  excited  fanatics  preparing  for  martyrdom 
about  the  Mosque,  past  Abool-Bukr,  three  parts  drunk, 
boasting  to  ruffling  blades  of  the  European  mistresses 
he  meant  to  keep,  the  Queen's  dhoolies  went  swaying 
out  of  the  precincts;  all  yielding  place  to  them.  And 
beyond,  in  the  denser,  more  dangerous  crowd  without, 
they  passed  easily;  for  those  tinsel-decked,  tawdry 
canopies,  screened  with  sodden  musk  and  dirt-scented 
curtains,  were  sacred. 

Sacred  even  to  the  refuse  and  rabble  of  the  city,  the 
dissolute  eunuchs,  the  mob  of  retainers,  palace  guards, 
and  blood-drunk  soldierly  surging  through  that  long 
arched  tunnel  by  the  Lahore  gate,  and  hustling  to  get 
round  that  wide  arch,  and  so,  a  few  steps  further,  see  the 
Commissioner  standing  at  bay  upon  that  wide  curving 
red-stone  stair  that  led  upward.  Standing  and  thinking 
of  the  women  above;  of  one  woman  mostly.  Standing, 
facing  the  wild  sea  of  faces,  waiting  to  see  if  that  last 
appeal  for  help  had  been  heard. 

"  Room!     Room!  for  the  Queen's  dhoolies!  " 

The  cry  echoed  above  the  roar  of  the  crowd. 

At  last!  He  turned,  to  pass  on  the  welcome  news, 
perchance;  but  it  was  enough — that  one  waver  of  that 
stern  face!  There  was  a  rush,  a  cry,  a  clang  of  steel  on 
stone,  a  fall!  And  then  up  those  wide  curving  stairs, 
like  fiends  incarnate,  jostled  a  mad  crew,  elbowing  each 
other,  cursing  each  other,  in  their  eagerness  for  that 
blow  which  would  win  Paradise. 

Four  crowns  of  glory  in  the  first  room,  where  the 
chaplain,  the  Captain,  and  the  two  English  girls  fell  side 
by  side.  One  in  the  next,  where  the  Collector  and 
Magistrate,  weary  and  wounded,  still  lay  alone. 

"Way!     Way!  for  the  Queen's  dhoolies!" 

But  they  had  come  too  late,  as  all  things  seemed  to 
come  too  late  on  that  fatal  nth  of  May. 

Too  late!  Too  late!  The  words  dinned  themselves 
into  a  horseman's  brain,  as  he  dashed  out  of  the  com- 
pound of  a  small  house  in  Duryagunj  and  headed 
straight  through  the  bazaar  for  the  little  house  on  the 
city  wall  by  the  Cashmere  gate.  And  as  he  rode  he 
shouted:  "Dccn!  Dccn!" 


2  22  O.V    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

It  was  a  convenient  cry,  and  suited  the  trooper's  dress 
he  wore.  He  had  had  to  shoot  a  man  to  get  it,  but  he 
hoped  to  shoot  many  more  when  he  had  seen  AHce 
Gissing  in  safety,  and  the  Meerut  column  had  come  in. 
It  could  not  be  long  now. 


CHAPTER   HI. 

DAYLIGHT. 

Three  miles  away  Kate  Erlton  sat  in  her  home-like, 
peaceful  drawing  room,  feeling  dazzled.  The  sunshine, 
streaming  through  the  open  doors,  seemed  to  stream 
into  the  very  recesses  of  her  mind  as  she  sat,  still  look- 
ing at  the  letter  which  she  had  found  half  an  hour  before 
waiting  for  her  beside  a  bunch  of  late  roses  which  the 
gardener  had  laid  on  the  table  ready  for  her  to  arrange  in 
the  vases.  The  flowers  were  fading  fast;  the  dog-cart 
waiting  outside  to  take  her  on  to  see  a  sick  friend  ere  the 
sun  grew  hot,  shifted  to  find  another  shadow;  but  she 
did  not  move. 

She  was  trying  to  understand  what  it  all  meant; 
really — deprived  of  her  conventional  thoughts  about  such 
things.  And  one  sentence  in  the  letter  had  a  strange 
fascination  for  her.  "  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  to  think 
you  will  mind.  I  know  you  will  get  on  much  better 
without  me." 

Of  course.  She  had,  in  a  way,  accepted  the  truth  of 
this  years  ago.  The  fact  must  have  been  patent  to  him 
also  all  that  time;  and  she  had  known  that  he  accepted  it. 

But  now,  set  down  in  black  and  white,  it  forced  her 
into  seeing — as  she  had  never  seen  before — the  deadly 
injury  she  had  done  to  the  man  by  not  minding.  And 
then  the  question  came  keenly — "  Why  had  she  not 
minded?"  Because  she  had  not  been  content  with  her 
bargain.  She  had  wanted  something  else.  What?  The 
emotion,  the  refinement,  the  fin-i\cnr  of  sentiment. 
Briefly,  what  made  her  happy;  what  gave  her  satisfac- 
tion. It  was  only,  then,  a  question  between  different 
forms  of  enjoyment;  the  one  as  purely   selfish   as   the 


Da  y light.  223 

other.  More  so,  in  a  way,  for  it  claimed  more  and 
carried  the  grievance  of  denial  into  every  detail  of  life. 
She  moved  restlessly  in  her  chair,  confused  by  this  sud- 
den daylight  in  her  mind ;  laid  down  the  letter,  then  took 
it  up  again  and  read  another  sentence. 

"  I  believe  you  used  to  think  that  I'd  get  the  regiment 
some  day;  but  I  shouldn't — after  all,  the  finish  is  the 
win  or  the  lose  of  a  race." 

The  letter  went  down  on  the  table  again,  but  this  time 
her  head  went  down  with  it  to  rest  upon  it  above  her 
clasped  hands.  Oh!  the  pity  of  it!  the  pity  of  it!  Yet 
how  could  she  have  avoided  standing  aloof  from  this 
man's  life  as  she  had  done  from  the  moment  she  had  dis- 
covered she  did  not  love  him? 

Suddenly  she  stood  up,  pressing  those  clasped  hands 
tight  to  her  forehead  as  if  to  hold  in  her  thoughts.  The 
sunlight,  streaming  in,  shone  right  into  her  cool  gray 
eyes,  showing  in  a  ray  on  the  iris,  as  if  it  were  passing 
into  her  very  soul. 

If  she  had  been  this  man's  sister,  instead  of  his  wife, 
could  she  not  have  lived  with  him  contentedly  enough, 
palliating  what  could  be  palliated,  gaining  what  influ- 
ence she  could  with  him,  giving  him  affection  and  sym- 
pathy? Why,  briefly,  had  she  failed  to  make  him  what 
Alice  Gissing  had  made  him — a  better  man?  And  yet 
Alice  Gissing  did  not  love  him;  she  had  no  romantic 
sentiment  about  him.  Did  she  really  lay  less  stress — she, 
the  w'oman  at  whom  other  women  held  up  pious  hands 
of  horror — on  that  elemental  difference  between  the  tie  of 
husband  and  wife,  and  brother  and  sister  than  she,  Kate 
Erlton,  did,  who  had  affected  to  rise  superior  to  it  alto- 
gether? It  seemed  so.  She  had  asked  for  a  purely 
selfish  gratification  of  the  mind.  And  Alice  Gissing? 
A.  strange  jealousy  came  to  her  with  the  thought,  not 
for  herself,  but  for  her  husband;  for  the  man  who  was 
content  to  give  up  everything  for  a  woman  whom  he 
"  loved  very  dearly."  That  was  true.  Kate  had 
watched  him  for  those  three  months,  and  she  had 
watched  Mrs.  Gissing  too,  and  knew  for  a  certainty  the 
latter  gave  him  nothing  any  woman  might  not  have 
given    him   if   she   had   been   content   to   put   her   own 


224  ON    THE  FACE    OF   THE    WATERS. 

claims  for  happiness,  her  own  gratification,  her  own 
mental  passion  aside.  So  a  quick  resolve  came  to  her. 
He  must  not  give  up  the  finish,  the  win  or  the  lose  of  the 
race,  for  so  little.  There  was  time  yet  for  the  chance. 
She  had  pleaded  for  one  with  a  man  a  year  ago;  she 
would  plead  for  it  with  a  woman  to-day. 

She  passed  into  the  veranda  hastily,  pausing  involun- 
tarily ere  getting  into  the  dog-cart  before  the  still,  sunlit 
beauty  of  that  panorama  of  the  eastern  plains,  stretching 
away  behind  the  gardens  which  fringed  the  shining 
curves  of  the  river.  There  was  scarcely  a  shadow  any- 
where, not  a  sign  to  tell  that  three  miles  down  that  river 
the  man  with  whom  she  had  pleaded  a  year  ago  was 
straining  every  nerve  to  give  her  and  himself  a  chance, 
and  that  within  the  rose-lit,  lilac-shaded  city  the  chance 
of  some  had  come^  and  gone. 

Nor,  as  she  drove  along  the  road  intent  on  that  com- 
ing interview  in  the  hot  little  house  upon  the  wall,  was 
there  any  sign  to  warn  her  of  danger.  The  Cash- 
mere gate  stood  open,  and  the  guard  saluted  as  usual. 
Perhaps,  had  the  English  officers  seen  her,  they  might 
have  advised  her  return,  even  though  there  was  as  yet 
no  anticipation  of  danger;  had  there  been  one,  the  first 
thought  would  have  been  to  clear  the  neighboring- 
bungalows.  But  they  were  in  the  main-guard,  and  she 
set  down  the  stare  of  the  natives  to  the  fact  that  nine 
o'clock  was  unusually  late  for  an  English  lady  to  be 
braving  the  May  sun.  The  road  beyond  was  also  un- 
usually deserted,  but  she  was  too  busy  searching  for  the 
winged  words,  barbed  well,  yet  not  too  swift  or  sharp 
to  wovmd  beyond  possibility  of  compromise,  which  she 
meant  to  use  ere  long,  to  pay  any  attention  to  her  sur- 
roundings. She  did  not  even  catch  the  glimpse  of 
Sonny,  still  playing  with  the  cockatoo,  a;s  she  sped  past 
the  Seymours'  house,  and  she  scarcely  noticed  the 
groom's  "  Hntl  tcri,  hut!  "  (Out  of  the  way!  you  there!) 
to  a  figure  in  a  green  turban,  over  which  she  nearly  ran, 
as  it  came  sneaking  round  a  corner  as  if  looking  for 
something  or  someone;  a  figure  which  paused  to  look 
after  her  half  doubtfully. 

Yet  these  same  words,  which  came  so  readily  to  her 


DA  YLIGHT.  225 

imaginings,  failed  her.  as  set  words  will,  before  the  com- 
monplace matter-of-fact  reality.  If  she  could  have 
jumped  from  the  dog-cart  and  dashed  into  them  without 
preamble,  she  would  have  been  eloquent  enough;  but 
the  necessary  inquiry  if  Mrs.  Gissing  could  see  her,  the 
ushering  in  as  for  an  ordinary  visit,  the  brief  waiting, 
the  perfunctory  hand-shake  with  the  little  figure  in 
familiar  white-and-blue  were  so  far  from  the  high-strung 
appeal  in  her  thoughts  that  they  left  her  silent,  almost 
shy. 

"  Find  a  comfy  chair,  do,"  came  the  high,  hard  voice. 
"  Isn't  it  dreadfully  hot?  My  old  Mai  will  have  it  some- 
thing is  going  to  happen.  She  has  been  dikking  me 
about  it  all  the  morning.  An  earthquake,  I  suppose;  it 
feels  like  it,  rather.     Don't  you  think  so?  " 

Kate  felt  as  if  one  had  come  already,  as,  quite  auto- 
matically, she  satisfied  Alice  Gissing's  choice  of  "  a 
really — really  comfy  chair." 

How  dizzily  unreal  it  seemed!  And  yet  not  more  so, 
in  fact,  than  the  life  they  had  been  leading  for  months 
past;  knowing  the  truth  about  each  other  absolutely; 
pretending  to  know  nothing.  Well!  the  sooner  that 
sort  of  thing  came  to  an  end,  the  better! 

"  I  have  had  a  letter  from  my  husband,"  she  began, 
but  had  to  pause  to  steady  her  voice. 

"  So  I  supposed  when  I  saw  you,"  replied  Alice  Giss- 
ing, without  a  quiver  in  hers.  But  she  rose,  crossed  over 
to  Kate,  and  stood  before  her,  like  a  naughty  child,  her 
hands  behind  her  back.  She  looked  strangely  young, 
strangely  innocent  in  the  dim  light  of  the  sunshaded 
room.  So  young,  so  small,  so  slight  among  the  endless 
frills  and  laces  of  a  loose  morning  wrapper.  And  she 
spoke  like  a  child  also,  querulously,  petulantly. 

"  I  like  you  the  better  for  coming,  too,  though  I  don't 
see  what  possible  good  it  can  do.  He  said  in  his  letter 
to  me  he  would  tell  you  all  about  it,  and  if  he  has,  I 
don't  see  what  else  there  is  to  say,  do  you?  " 

Kate  rose  also,  as  if  to  come  nearer  to  her  adversary, 
and  so  the  two  women  stood  looking  boldly  enough  into 
each  other's  eves.  But  the  keenness,  the  passion,  the 
pity  of  the  scene  had  somehow  gone  out  of  it  for  Kate 


2  26  ON   THE  FACE    OF   THE    WATERS. 

Erlton.  Her  tongue  seemed  tied  by  the  tameuess;  she 
felt  that  they  might  have  been  discussing  a  trivial  detail 
in  some  trivial  future.  Yet  she  fought  against  the 
feeling. 

"  I  think  there  is  a  great  deal  to  say;  that  is  why  I 
have  come  to  say  it,"  she  replied,  after  a  pause.  "  But 
I  can  say  it  quickly.  You  don't  love  my  husband,  Alice 
Gissing,  let  him  go.     Don't  ruin  his  life." 

Bald  and  crude  as  this  was  in  comparison  with  her 
imagined  appeal,  it  gave  the  gist  of  it,  and  Kate  watched 
her  hearer's  face  anxiously  to  see  the  effect.  Was  that 
by  chance  a  faint  smile?  or  was  it  only  the  barred  light 
from  the  jalousies  hitting  the  wide  blue  eyes? 

"  Love!  "  echoed  Alice  Gissing.  "  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  love.  I  never  pretended  to.  But  I  can 
make  him  happy;  you  never  did." 

There  was  not  a  trace  of  malice  in  the  high  voice.  It 
simply  stated  a  fact;  but  a  fact  so  true  that  Kate's  lip 
quivered. 

"  I  know  that  as  well  as  you  do.  But  I  think  I  could — 
now.     I  want  you  to  give  me  the  chance." 

She  had  not  meant  to  put  it  so  humbly;  but,  being 
once  more  the  gist  of  what  she  had  intended  to  say,  it 
must  pass.  There  was  no  doubt  about  the  smile  now. 
It  was  almost  a  laugh,  that  hateful,  inconsequent  laugh; 
but,  as  if  to  soften  its  effect,  a  little  jeweled  hand  hovered 
out  as  if  it  sought  a  resting-place  on  Kate's  arm. 

"  You  can't,  my  dear.  It  \s  so  funny  that  you  can't 
see  that,  when  I,  who  know  nothing  about — about  all 
that — can  see  it  quite  plainly.  You  are  the  sort  of 
woman,  Mrs.  Erlton,  who  falls  in  love — who  must  fall 
in  love — who — don't  be  angry! — likes  being  in  love,  and 
is  unhappy  if  she  isn't.  Now  I  don't  care  a  rap  for 
people  to  be  thinking,  and  thinking,  and  thinking  of  me, 
nothing  but  me!     I  like  them  to  be  pleasant  and  pleased. 

And  I  make  them  so,  somehow "     She  shrugged  her 

shoulders  whimsically  as  if  to  dismiss  the  puzzle,  and 
went  on  gravely,  "  And  you  can't  make  people  happy  if 
you  aren't  happy  yourself,  you  know,  so  there  is  no  use 
in  thinking  you  could." 

It  was  bitter  truth,  but  Kate  was  too  honest  to  denv  it. 


Daylight.  227 

There  had  always  been  the  sense  of  grievance  in  the 
past,  and  the  sense  of  self-sacrifice,  at  least,  would  remain 
in  the  future. 

"  But  there  are  other  considerations,"  she  began 
slowly.  "  A  man  does  not  set  such  store  by — by  love 
and  marriage  as  a  woman.     It  is  only  a  bit " 

"  A  very  small  bit,"  put  in  Mrs.  Gissing,  with  a  whim- 
sical face. 

"  A  very  small  bit  of  his  life,"  continued  Kate  stolidly, 
"  and  if  my  husband  gives  up  his  profession " 

Mrs.  Gissing  interrupted  her  again;  this  time  petu- 
lantly. "I  told  him  it  was  a  pity — I  offered  to  go  away 
anywhere.  I  did,  indeed!  And  I  couldn't  do  more, 
could  I?  But  when  a  man  gets  a  notion  of  honor  into 
his  head " 

"Honor!"  interrupted  Kate  in  her  turn,  "the  less 
said  about  honor  the  better,  surelv,  between  you  and 
me!" 

The  wide  blue  eyes  looked  at  her  doubtfully. 

"  I  never  can  understand  women  like  you,"  said  their 
owner.  "  You  pretend  not  to  care,  and  then  you  make 
so  much  fuss  over  so  little." 

"■  So  little!  "  retorted  Kate,  her  temper  rising.  "  Is  it 
little  that  my  boy  should  have  to  know  this  about  his 
father — about  me?  You  have  no  children,  Mrs.  Giss- 
ing! If  you  had  you  would  understand  the  shame 
better.  Oh!  I  know  about  the  baby  and  the  flowers — 
who  doesn't?  But  that  is  nothing.  It  was  so  long  ago, 
it  died  so  young,  you  have  forgotten " 

She  broke  off  before  the  expression  on  the  face  before 
her — that  face  with  the  shadowless  eyes,  but  with  deep 
shadows  beneath  the  eyes  and  a  nameless  look  of  physi- 
cal strain  and  streps  upon  it — and  a  sudden  pallor  came 
to  her  own  cheek. 

"  So  he  hasn't  told  you,"  came  the  high  voice  half- 
fretfuUy,  half-pitifully.  "That  was  very  mean  of  him; 
but  I  thought,  somehow,  he  couldn't  by  your  coming 
here.     Well!     I   suppose   I  must.     Mrs.  Erlton " 

Kate  stepped  back  from  her  defiantly,  angrily.  "  He 
has  told  me  all  I  need,  all  I  care  to  know  about  this 
miserable   business.     Yes!    he   has!     You    can    see   the 


22  8  O.V    THE   FACE    OF    THE  .WATERS. 

letter  if  you  like — there  it  is!  I  am  not  ashamed  of  it. 
It  is  a  good  letter,  better  than  I  thought  he  could  write — 
better  than  you  deserve.  For  he  says  he  will  marry  you 
if  I  will  let  him!  And  he  says  he  is  sorry  it  can't  be 
helped.  But  I  deny  that.  It  can,  it  must,  it  shall  be 
helped!  And  then  he  says  it's  a  pity  for  the  boy's  sake; 
but  that  it  does  not  matter  so  much  as  if  it  was  a 
girl " 

It  was  the  queerest  sound  which  broke  in  on  those 
passionate  reproaches.  The  queerest  sound.  Neither  a 
laugh  nor  a  sob,  nor  a  cry ;  but  something  compounded 
of  all  three,  infinitely  soft,  infinitely  tender. 

'■  And  the  other  may  be,"  said  Alice  Gissing  in  a  voice 
of  smiles  and  tears,  as  she  pointed  to  the  end  of  the  sen- 
tence in  the  letter  Kate  had  thrust  upon  her.  "  Poor 
dear!  \Miat  a  way  to  put  it!  How  like  a  man  to 
think  you  could  understand;  and  I  wonder  what  the  old 
Mai  Zi'ould  say  to  its  being " 

What  did  she  say?  What  were  the  frantic  words 
which  broke  from  the  frantic  figure,  its  sparse  gray  hair 
showing,  its  shriveled  bosom  heaving  unveiled,  which 
burst  into  the  room  and  flung  its  arms  round  that  little 
be-frilled  white  one  as  if  to  protect  and  shield  it? 

Kate  Erlton  gave  a  half-choked,  half-sobbing  cry. 
Even  this  seemed  a  relief  from  the  incredible  horror  of 
what  had  dawned  upon  her,  frightening  her  by  the  wild 
insensate  jealousy  it  roused — the  jealousy  of  mother- 
hood. 

"What  is  it?"  What  does  she  say?"  she  cried  pas- 
sionately, "  I  have  a  right  to  know!  " 

Alice  Gissing  looked  at  her  with  a  faint  wonder.  "  It 
is  nothing  about  that,"  she  said,  and  her  face,  though  it 
had  whitened,  showed  no  fear.  "  It's  something  more 
important.  There  has  been  a  row  in  the  city — the  Com- 
missioner and  some  other  Englishmen  have  been  killed 
and  she  says  we  are  not  safe.  I  don't  quite  understand. 
Oh!  don't  be  a  fool,  Mai!  "  she  went  on  in  Hindustani,  "  I 
won't  excite  myself.  I  never  do.  Don't  be  a  fool,  I 
say!"  Her  foot  came  down  almost  savagely  and  she 
turned  to  Kate.  "  If  you  will  wait  here  for  a  second, 
]\Irs.  Erlton.  I'll  go  outside  with  the  Mai  and  have  a  look 


DAYLIGHT.  229 

round,  and  bring  my  husband's  pistol  from  the  other 
room.  You  had  better  stay,  really.  I  shall  be  l^ack  in 
a  moment.  And  I  dare  say  it's  all  the  old  Mai's  non- 
sense— she  is  such  a  fool  about  me — nowadays."  Her 
white  face,  smiling  over  its  own  certainty  of  coming 
trouble,  was  gone,  and  the  door  closed,  almost  before 
Kate  could  say  a  word.  Not  that  she  had  any  to  say. 
She  was  too  dazed  to  think  of  danger  to  the  little 
figure,  which  passed  out  into  the  shady  back  veranda 
perched  on  the  city  wall,  looking  out  into  the  peaceful 
country  beyond.  She  was  too  absorbed  in  what  she  had 
just  realized  to  think  of  anything  else.  So  this  was  what 
he  had  meant! — and  this  woman  with  her  facile  nature, 
ready  to  please  and  be  pleased  with  anyone — this  woman 
content  to  take  the  lowest  place — had  the  highest  of  all 
claims  upon  him.  This  woman  who  had  no  right  to 
motherhood,  who  did  not  know 

God  in  Heaven!  What  was  that  through  the  stillness 
and  the  peace?     A  child's  pitiful  scream. 

She  was  at  the  closed  windows  in  an  instant,  peering 
through  the  slits  of  the  jalousies;  but  there  was  nothing 
to  be  seen  save  a  blare  and  blaze  of  sunlight  on  sun- 
scorched  grass  and  sun-withered  beds  of  flowers.  Noth- 
ing!— stay! — Christ  help  us!  What  was  that?  A  vision 
of  white,  and  gold,  and  blue.  White  garments  and 
white  wings,  golden  curls  and  flaming  golden  crest,  fierce 
gray-blue  beak  and  claws  among  the  fluttering  blue 
ribbons.  Sonny!  His  little  feet  flying  and  failing  fast 
among  the  flower-beds.  Sonny!  still  holding  his 
favorite's  chain  in  the  unconscious  grip  of  terror,  while 
half-dragged,  half-flying,  the  wide  white  wings  fluttered 
over  the  child's  head. 

''Dccn!     Dccn!     FutfcJi  Mohammed! " 

That  was  from  the  bird,  terrified,  yet  still  gentle. 

"Decn!    Deen!    Futtch  Mohammed C 

That  was  from  the  old  man  who  followed  fast  on  the 
child  with  long  lance  in  rest  like  a  pig-sticker's.  An  old 
man  in  a  faded  green  turban  with  a  spiritual,  relentless 
face. 

Kate's  fingers  were  at  the  bolts  of  the  high  French  win- 
dow— her  only  chance  of  speedy  exit  from  that  closed 


2 so  OAT    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

room.  Ah!  would  they  never  yield? — and  the  lance 
was  gaining  on  those  poor  little  flying  feet.  Every  atom 
of  motherhood  in  her — fierce,  instinctive,  animal,  fought 
with  those  unyielding  bolts.  .  .  . 

What  was  that?  Another  vision  of  white,  and  gold, 
and  blue,  dashing  into  the  sunlight  w-ith  something  in  a 
little  clenched  right  hand.  Childish  itself  in  frills,  and 
laces,  and  ribbons,  but  with  a  face  as  relentless  as  the 
old  man's,  as  spiritual.  And  a  clear  confident  voice  rang 
above  those  discordant  cries. 

"All  right,   Sonny!     All  right,   dear!" 

On,  swift  and  straight  in  the  sunlight;  and  then  a 
pause  to  level  the  clenched  right  hand  over  the  left  arm 
coolly,  and  fire.  The  lance  wavered.  It  was  two  feet 
further  from  that  soft  flesh  and  blood  when  Alice  Gissing 
caught  the  child  up,  turned  and  ran;  ran  for  dear  life 
to  shelter. 

"Deoi!     Dccn!     Fnitch  Mohammed!" 

The  cry  came  after  the  woman  and  child,  and  over 
them,  released  by  Sonny's  wild  clutch  at  sheltering  arms, 
the  bird  fluttered,  echoing  the  cry. 

But  one  bolt  was  down  at  last,  the  next  yielding — Ah! 
who  was  that  dressed  like  a  native,  riding  like  an  Eng- 
lishman, who  leaped  the  high  garden  fence  and  was  over 
among  the  flower-beds  where  Sonny  was  being  chased. 
Was  he  friend  or* foe?  No  matter!  Since  under  her 
vehement  hands  the  bolt  had  fallen,  and  Kate  was  out 
in  the  veranda.  Too  late!  The  flying  sunlit  vision  of 
white,  and  gold,  and  blue  had  tripped  and  fallen.  No! 
not  too  late.  The  report  of  a  revolver  rang  out,  and  the 
Cry  of  Faith  came  only  from  the  bird,  for  the  fierce 
relentless  face  was  hidden  among  the  laces,  and  frills,  and 
ribbons  that  hid  the  withered  flowers. 

But  the  lance?  The  lance  whose  perilous  nearness 
had  made  that  shot  Jim  Douglas'  only  chance  of  keeping 
his  promise?  He  was  on  his  knees  on  the  scorched 
grass  choking  down  the  curse  as  he  saw  a  broken  shaft 
among  the  frills  and  ribbons,  a  slow  stream  oozing  in 
gushes  to  dye  them  crimson.  There  was  another  crim- 
son spot,  too,  on  the  shoulder,  showing  where  a  bullet, 
after  crashing  through  a  man's  temples,  had  found  its 


DA  Y LIGHT.  231 

spent  resting  place.  But  as  the  Englishman  kicked 
away  one  body,  and  raised  the  other  tenderly  from  the 
unhurt  child,  so  as  not  to  stir  that  broken  shaft,  he  wished 
that  if  death  had  had  to  come,  he  might  have  dealt  it. 
To  his  wild  rage,  his  insane  hatred,  there  seemed  a  dese- 
cration even  in  that  cold  touch  of  steel  from  a  dark  hand. 

But  Alice  Gissing  resented  nothing.  She  lay  propped 
by  his  arms  with  those  wide  blue  eyes  still  wide,  yet 
sightless,  heedless  of  Kate's  horrified  whispers,  or  the 
poor  old  Mai's  frantic  whimper.  Until  suddenly  a 
piteous  little  w^ail  rose  from  the  half-stunned  child  to 
mingle  with  that  ceaseless  iteration  of  grief.  "  Ohl 
mcri  biichchi  mnrgyia! "     (Oh,  my  girlie  is  dead! — dead!) 

It  seemed  to  bring  her  back,  and  a  smile  showed  on 
the  fast-paling  face. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Mai.  It  isn't  a  girl;  it's  a  boy. 
Take  care  of  him,  do,  and  don't  be  stupid.  I'm  all 
right." 

Her  voice  w^as  strong  enough,  and  Kate  looked  at 
Jim  Douglas  hopefully.  She  had  recognized  him  at  once, 
despite  his  dress,  with  a  faint,  dead  wonder  as  to  why 
things  were  so  strange  to-day.  But  he  could  feel  some- 
thing oozing  wet  and  warm  over  his  supporting  arm,  he 
knew  the  meaning  of  that  whitening  face;  so  he  shook 
his  head  hopelessly,  his  eyes  on  those  wide  unseeing 
ones.  She  was  as  still,  he  thought,  as  she  had  been 
when  he  held  her  before.  Then  stiddenly  the  eyes  nar- 
rowed into  sight,  and  looked  him  in  the  face  curiously, 
clearly. 

"  It's  you,  is  it?  "  came  the  old  inconsequent  laugh. 
"  Why  don't  you  say  '  Bravo! — Bravo! — Bra 

The  crimson  rush  of  blood  from  her  still-smiling  lips 
dyed  his  hands  also,  as  he  caught  her  up  recklessly  with 
a  swift  order  to  the  others  to  follow,  and  ran  for  the 
house.  But  as  he  ran,  clasping  her  close,  close,  to  him, 
his  wdiispered  bravos  assailed  her  dead  ears  passionately, 
and  when  he  laid  her  on  her  bed,  he  paused  even  in  the 
mad  tumult  of  his  rage,  his  anxiety,  his  hope  for  others  to 
kiss  the  palms  of  those  brave  hands  ere  he  folded  them 
decently  on  her  breast,  and  was  out  to  fetch  his  horse, 
and  return  to  where  Kate  waited  for  him  in  the  veranda, 


232  ON    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

the  child  in  her  arms.  Brave  also;  but  the  certainty  that 
he  had  left  the  flood-level  of  sympathy  and  admiration 
behind  him  at  the  feet  of  a  dead  woman  he  had  never 
known,  was  with  him  even  in  his  hurry. 

"  I  can't  see  anyone  else  about  as  yet,"  he  said,  as  he 
reloaded  hastily,  "  and  but  for  that  fiend — that  devil  of 
a  bird  hounding  him  on — what  did  it  mean? — not  that 
it  matters  now  '" — he  threw  his  hand  out  in  a  gesture  of 
impotent  regret  and  turned  to  mount. 

Kate  shivered.  What,  indeed,  did  it  mean?  A  vague 
recollection  was  adding  to  her  horror.  Had  she  driven 
away  once  from  an  uncomprehensible  appeal  in  that 
relentless  face?  when  the  bird 

"  Don't  think,  please,"  said  Jim  Douglas,  pausing  to 
give  her  a  sharp  glance.  "  You  will  need  all  your  nerve. 
The  troops  mutinied  at  Aleerut  last  night,  and  killed  a 
lot  of  people.  They  have  come  on  here,  and  I  don't  trust 
the  native  regiments.  Go  inside,  and  shut  the  door.  I 
must  reconnoiter  a  bit  before  we  start." 

"But  my  husband?"  she  cried,  and  her  tone  made 
hnn  remember  the  strangeness  of  finding  her  in  that 
house.  She  looked  unreliable,  to  his  keen  eye;  the  bit- 
ter truth  might  make  her  rigid,  callous,  and  in  such 
callousness  lay  their  only  chance. 

"  All  right.     He  asked  me  to  look  after — her." 

He  saw  her  waver,  then  pull  herself  together;  but  he 
saw  also  that  her  clasp  on  Sonny  tightened  convulsively, 
and  he  held  out  his  arms. 

"  Hand  the  child  to  me  for  a  moment,"  he  said  briefly, 
"  and  call  that  poor  lady's  ayah  from  her  wailing." 

The  piteous  Vvhimperings-  from  the  darkened  rooms 
within  ceased  reluctantly.  The  old  woman  came  with 
lagging  step  into  the  veranda,  but  Jim  Douglas  called  to 
her  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  voice. 

"  Here,  Mai!  Take  your  mem's  charge.  She  told 
you  to  take  care  of  the  boy,  remember."  The  tear-dim 
doubtful  eyes  looked  at  him  half-resentfully,  but  he  went 
on  coolly.  "  Xow,  Sonny,  go  to  your  ayah,  and  be  a 
good  bo}-.  Hold  out  your  arms  to  old  ayah,  who  has 
had  ever  so  many  Sonnys — haven't  you,  avah?" 

The  child,  glad  to  escape  from  the  prancing  horse,  the 


DA  YI.IGHT.  233 

purposely  rough  arms,  held  out  its  little  dimpled  hands. 
They  seemed  to  draw  the  hesitating  old  feet,  step  by  step, 
till  with  a  sudden  fierce  snatch,  a  wild  embrace,  the  old 
arms  closed  round  the  child  with  a  croon  of  content. 

Jim  Douglas  breathed  more  freely.  "  Now,  Mrs.  Erl- 
ton,"  he  said,  "  I  can't  make  you  promise  to  leave  Sonny 
there;  but  he  is  safer  with  her  than  he  could  be  with  you. 
She  must  have  friends  in  the  city.     You  haven't  oncT 

He  was  off  as  he  spoke,  leaving  her  to  that  knowledge. 
Xot  a  friend!  No!  not  one.  Still,  he  need  not  have 
told  her  so,  she  thought  proudly,  as  she  passed  in  and 
closed  the  doors  as  she  had  been  bidden  to  do.  But  he 
had  succeeded.  A  certain  fierce,  dull  resistance  had  re- 
placed her  emotion.  So  while  the  ayah,  still  carrying 
Sonny,  returned  to  her  dead  mistress,  Kate  remained  in 
the  drawing  room,  feeling  stunned.  Too  stunned  to 
think  of  anything  save  those  last  words.  Xot  a  friend! 
Not  one,  saving  a  few  cringing  shop-keepers,  in  all  that 
wide  city  to  whom  she  had  ever  spoken  a  word !  Whose 
fault  was  that?  Whose  fault  was  it  that  she  had  not 
understood  that  appeal? 

A  rattle  of  musketry  quite  close  at  hand  roused  her 
from  apathy  into  fear  for  the  child,  and  she  passed 
rapidly  into  the  next  room.  It  was  empty,  save  for  that 
figure  on  the  bed.  The  ayah  with  her  charge  had  gone, 
closing  the  doors  behind  her;  to  her  friends,  no  doubt. 
But  she,  Kate  Erlton,  had  none.'  The  renewed  rattle 
of  musketry  sent  her  to  peer  through  the  jalousies;  but 
she  could  see  nothing.  The  sound  seemed  to  come  from 
the  open  space  by  the  church,  but  gardens  lay  between 
her  and  that,  blocking  the  view.  Still  it  was  quite  close; 
seemed  closer  than  it  had  been.  No  doubt  it  would 
come  closer  and  closer  till  it  found  her  waiting  there, 
without  a  friend.  Well!  Since  she  was  not  even 
capable  of  saving  Sonny,  she  could  at  least  do  what  she 
was  told — she  could  at  least  die  alone. 

No !  not  quite  alone !  She  turned  back  to  the  bed  and 
looked  down  on  the  slender  figure  lying  there  as  if  asleep. 
For  the  ayah's  vain  hopes  of  lingering  life  had  left  the 
face  unstained,  and  the  folded  hands  hid  the  crimson 
below  them.     Asleep,  not  dead;  for  the  face  had  no  look 


2  34  ON  THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

of  rejt.  It  was  the  face  of  one  who  dreams  still  of  the 
stress  and  strain  of  coming  life. 

So  this  was  to  be  her  companion  in  death;  this  woman 
who  had  done  her  the  greatest  wrong.  What  wrong? 
the  question  came  dully.  What  wrong  had  she  done 
to  one  who  refused  to  admit  the  claims  or  rights  of 
passion?  What  had  she  stolen,  this  woman  who  had  not 
cared  at  all?  Whose  mind  had  been  unsullied  utterly. 
Only  motherhood;  and  that  was  given  to  saint  and  sin- 
ner alike. 

Given  rightly  here,  for  those  little  hands  were  brave 
mother-hands.  Kate  put  out  hers  softly  and  touched 
them.  Still  warm,  still  life-like,  their  companionship 
thrilled  her  through  and  through.  \Mth  a  faint  sob,  she 
sank  on  her  knees  beside  the  bed  and  laid  her  cheek  on 
them.  Let  death  come  and  find  her  there!  Let  the 
finish  of  the  race,  which  was  the  win  and  the  lose 

"  Mrs.  Erlton!  quick,  please!  " 

Jim  Douglas'  voice,  calling  to  her  from  outside,  roused 
her  from  a  sort  of  apathy  into  sudden  desire  for  life ;  she 
was  out  in  the  veranda  in  a  second. 

"  The  game's  up,"  he  said,  scarcely  able  to  speak 
from  breathlessness;  and  his  horse  was  in  a  white  lather. 
"  I  had  to  see  to  the  Seymours  first,  and  now  there's  only 
one  chance  I  can  think  of — desperate  at  that.     Quick, 

your  foot  on  mine — so — from  the  step Now  your 

hand.  One!  two!  three!  That's  right."  He  had  her 
on  the  saddle  before  him  and  was  ofT  through  the  gardens 
cityward  at  a  gallop.  "  The  54th  came  down  from  the 
cantonments  all  right,"  he  went  on  rapidly,  "  but  shot 
their  officers  at  the  church — the  city  scoundrels  are  kill- 
ing and  looting  all  about,  but  the  main-guard  is  closed 
and  safe  as  yet.  I  got  Mrs.  Seymour  there.  Fll  get  you 
if  I  can.  I'm  going  to  ride  through  the  thick  of  the 
devils  now^  with  you  as  my  prisoner.  Do  you  see — there 
at  the  turn.  I'll  hark  back  down  the  road — it's  the  only 
chance  of  getting  through.  Slip  down  a  bit  across  the 
saddle  bow.  Don't  be  afraid.  I'll  hold  as  long  as  I  can. 
Now  scream — scream  like  the  devil.  No!  let  your  arms 
slack  as  if  you'd  fainted — people  won't  look  so  much — 
that's  better — that's  capital — now — ready!  " 


D.l  y LIGHT.  235 

He  swerved  his  horse  with  a  dig  of  the  spur  and 
made  for  the  crowd  which  lay  between  him  and  safety. 
The  words  describing  the  rape  of  the  Sabine 
women,  over  the  construing  of  w^hich  he  remembered 
being  birched  at  school,  recurred  to  him,  as  such  idle 
thoughts  will  at  such  times,  as  he  hitched  his  hand 
tighter  on  Kate's  dress  and  scattered  the  first  group  with 
a  coarse  jest  or  two.  Thank  Heaven!  She  would  not 
understand  these,  his  only  weapons;  since  cold  steel 
could  not  be  used,  till  it  had  to  be  used  to  prevent  her 
understanding.  Thank  Heaven,  too!  he  could  use  both 
weapons  fairly.  So  he  dug  in  the  spurs  again  and  an- 
swered the  crowd  in  its  own  kind,  recklessly.  A  laugh, 
an  oath,  once  or  twice  a  blow  with  the  flat  of  his  sword. 
And  Kate,  with  slack  arms  and  closed  eyes,  lay  and 
listened — listened  to  a  sharper,  angrier  voice,  a  quick 
clash  of  steel,  a  shout  of  half-doubtful,  half-pleased  deri- 
sion from  those  near,  a  jest  provoking  a  roar  of  merri- 
ment for  one  who  meant  to  hold  his  own  in  love  and  war. 
Then  a  sudden  bound  of  the  horse ;  a  faint  slackening  of 
that  iron  grip  on  her  waist-belt.  The  worst  of  the 
stream  was  past;  another  moment  and  they  were  in  a 
quiet  street,  another,  and  they  had  turned  at  right-angles 
down  a  secluded  alley  where  Jim  Douglas  paused  to  pass 
his  right  hand,  still  holding  his  sword,  under  Kate's  head 
and  bid  her  lean  against  him  more  comfortably.  The 
rest  was  easy.  He  would  take  her  out  by  the  Moree 
gate^the  alleys  to  it  would  be  almost  deserted — so,  out- 
side the  walls,  to  the  rear  of  the  Cashmere  gate.  They 
were  already  twisting  and  turning  through  the  narrow 
lanes  as  he  told  her  this.  Then,  with  a  rush  and  a 
whoop,  he  made  for  the  gate,  and  the  next  moment  they 
had  the  open  country,  the  world,  before  them.  How 
still  and  peaceful  it  lay  in  the  sunshine!  But  the  main- 
guard  was  the  nearest,  safest  shelter,  so  the  gailoping 
hoofs  sped  down  the  tree-set  road  along  which  Kate 
generally  took  her  evening  drive. 

"  And  you?  "  she  asked  hurriedly  as  he  set  her  down 
at  the  moat  and  bade  her  run  for  the  wicket  and  knock, 
while  he  kept  the  drawbridge. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  The  reliefs  from  ]\Ieerut  must 
be  in  soon.     If  they  started  at  dawn,  in  an  hour.     Be- 


236  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

sides,  I'm  off  to  the  Palace  to  see  what  has  really  hap- 
pened; information's  everything." 

She  saw  him  turn  with  a  wave  of  his  sword  for  farewell 
as  the  wicket  was  opened  cautiously,  and  make  for  the 
Moree  gate  once  more.  As  he  rode  he  told  himself  there 
should  be  no  further  cause  for  anxiety  on  her  account. 
De  Tessier's  guns  were  in  the  main-guard  now,  and  re- 
inforcements of  the  loyal  74th.  They  could  hold  their 
own  easily  till  the  Meerut  people  smashed  up  the  Palace. 
They  could  not  be  long  now,  and  the  city  had  not  risen 
as  yet.  The  bigger  bazaars  through  which  he  cantered 
were  almost  deserted;  everyone  had  gone  home.  But 
at  the  entrance  to  an  alley  a  group  of  boys  clustered,  and 
one  ran  out  to  him  crying,  "  Khan-sahib!  What's  the 
matter?  Folk  say  people  are  being  killed,  but  we  want 
to  go  to  school." 

"  Don't,"  said  Jim  Douglas  as  he  passed  on.  He  had 
seen  the  schoolmaster,  stripped  naked,  lying  on  his  back 
in  the  broad  daylight  as  he  galloped  along  the  College 
road  with  Kate  over  his  saddle-bow. 

"  Ari,  brothers,"  reported  the  spokesman.  "  He  said 
'  don't,'  but  he  can  know  naught.  He  comes  from  the 
outside.  And  we  shall  lose  places  in  class  if  we  stop, 
and  others  go." 

So  in  the  cheerful  daylight  the  schoolboys  discussed 
the  problem,  school  or  no  school;  the  Great  Revolt  had 
got  no  further  than  that,  as  yet. 

But  there  was  no  cloud  of  dust  upon  the  Meerut  road, 
though  straining  eyes  thought  they  saw  one  more  than 
once. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

NOON. 

But  if  the  schoolmaster  of  one  school  lay  dead  in  the 
sunlight  there  was  another,  well  able  to  teach  a  useful 
lesson,  left  alive;  and  his  school  remains  for  all  time  as 
a  place  where  men  may  learn  what  men  can  do. 

For  about  three   hundred   yards   from   the   deserted 


NOON.  237 

College,  about  six  hundred  from  the  main-guard  of  the 
Cashmere  gate,  stood  the  magazine,  to  which  the  two 
young  Englishmen,  followed  by  a  burlier  one,  had  walked 
back  quietly  after  one  of  them  had  remarked  that  he  could 
hold  his  own.  For  there  were  gates  to  be  barred,  four 
walls  to  be  seen  to,  and  various  other  preparations  to  be 
made  before  the  nine  men  who  formed  the  garrison  could 
be  certain  of  holding  their  own.  And  their  own  meant 
much  to  others;  for  with  the  stores  and  the  munitions 
of  war  safe  the  city  might  rise,  but  it  would  be  unarmed; 
but  with  them  at  the  mercy  of  the  rabble  every  pitiful 
pillager  could  become  a  recruit  to  the  disloyal  regiments. 

"  The  mine's  about  finished  now,  sir,"  said  Conductor 
Buckley,  saluting  gravely  as  he  looked  critically  down  a 
line  ending  in  the  powder  magazine.  "  And,  askin'  your 
pardon,  sir,  mightn't  it  be  as  well  to  settle  a  signal  before- 
hand, sir;  in  case  it's  wanted?  And,  if  you  have  no 
objection,  sir,  here's  Sergeant  Scully  here,  sir,  saying  he 
would  look  on  it  as  a  kind  favor " 

A  man  with  a  spade  glanced  up  a  trifle  anxiously  for 
the  answer  as  he  went  on  with  his  work. 

"  All  right!  Scully  shall  fire  it.  If  you  finish  it  there 
in  the  middle  by  that  little  lemon  tree,  we  shan't  forget 
the  exact  spot.  Scully  must  see  to  having  the  portfire 
ready  for  himself.  I'll  give  the  word  to  you,  as  your  gun 
will  be  near  mine,  and  you  can  pass  it  on  by  raising  your 
cap.     That  will  do,  I  think." 

"  Nicely,  sir,"  said  Conductor  Buckley,  saluting  again. 

"  I  w'ish  we  had  one  more  man,"  remarked  the  Head- 
of-the-nine,  as  he  paused  in  passing  a  gun  to  look  to 
something  in  its  gear  with  swift  professional  eye.  ''  I 
don't  quite  see  how  the  nine  of  us  are  to  work  the  ten 
guns." 

"  Oh!  we'll  manage  somehow,"  said  his  second  in 
command,   "  the  native   establishment — perhaps " 

George  Willoughby,  the  Head-of-the-nine,  looked  at 
the  sullen  group  of  dark  faces  lounging  distrustfully 
within  those  barred  doors,  and  his  own  face  grew  stern. 
\\'ell,  if  they  would  not.  work,  they  should  at  least  stay 
and  look  on — stay  till  the  end.  Then  he  took  out  his 
watch. 


238  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

"Twelve!  The  Meerut  troops  will  be  in  soon — if 
they  started  at  dawn."  There  was  the  finest  inflection  of 
scorn  in  his  voice. 

"  They  must  have  started,"  began  his  companion. 
But  the  tall  figure  with  the  grave  young  face  was  strain- 
ing its  eyes  from  the  bastion  they  were  passing;  it  gave 
upon  the  bridge  of  boats  and  the  lessening  white  streak 
of  road.  He  was  looking  for  a  cloud  of  dust  upon  it; 
but  there  was  none. 

"  I  hope  so,"  he  remarked  as  he  went  on.  He  gave  a 
half-involuntary  glance  back,  however,  to  the  stunted 
lemon-bush.  There  was  a  black  streak  by  it,  which 
might  be  relied  upon  to  give  aid  at  dawn,  or  dusk,  or 
noon ;  high  noon  as  it  was  now. 

The  chime  of  it  echoed  methodically  as  ever  from  the 
main-guard,  making  a  cheerful  young  voice  in  the  offi- 
cer's room  say,  "  Well!  the  enemy  is  passing,  anyhow. 
The  reliefs  can't  be  long — if  they  started  at  dawn." 

"  If  they  had  started  when  they  ought  to  have  started, 
they  would  have  been  here  hours  ago,"  said  an  older 
man,  almost  petulantly,  as  he  rose  and  wandered  to  the 
door,  to  stand  looking  out  on  the  baking  court  wdiere  his 
men — the  two  companies  of  the  54th,  who  had  come 
down  under  his  charge  after  those  under  Colonel  Riply 
had  shot  down  their  officers  by  the  church — were  loung- 
ing about  sullenly.  These  men  might  have  shot  him 
also  but  for  the  timely  arrival  of  the  two  guns;  might 
have  shot  at  him,  even  now,  but  for  those  loyal  74th 
over-awing  them.  He  turned  and  looked  at  some  of 
the  latter  with  a  sort  of  envy.  These  men  had  come  for- 
ward in  a  body  when  the  regiment  was  called  upon  by 
its  commandant  to  give  honest  volunteers  to  keep  order 
in  the  city.  What  had  they  had,  which  his  men  had 
lacked?  Nothing  that  he  knew  of.  And  then,  inevit- 
ably, he  thought  of  his  six  murdered  friends  and  com- 
rades, officers  apparently  as  popular  as  he,  wdiose  bodies 
were  lying  in  the  next  room  waiting  for  a  cart  to  remove 
them  to  the  Ridge.  For  even  Major  Paterson,  saddened, 
depressed,  looked  forward  to  decent  sepulture  for  his 
comrades  by  and  by — by  and  by  when  the  Meerut  troops 
should  arrive.     And  the  half  dozen  or  more  of  women 


NOOM.  239 

upstairs  were  comforting  each  other  with  the  same  hope, 
and  crushing  down  the  cry  that  it  seemed  an  eternity, 
already,  since  they  had  waited  for  that  Httle  cloud  of 
dust  upon  the  Meerut  road.  But  for  that  hope  they 
might  have  gone  Meerutward  themselves;  for  the  coun- 
try was  peaceful. 

Even  in  Duryagunj,  though  by  noon  it  was  a  charnel- 
liouse,  the  score  or  so  of  men  who  kept  cowards  at  bay  in 
a  miserable  storehouse  comforted  themselves  with  the 
same  hope;  and  women  with  the  long  languid  eyes  of 
one  race,  looked  out  of  them  with  the  temper  and  fire 
of  the  other,  saying  in  soft  staccato  voices — "  It  will  not 
be  long  now.  They  will  be  here  soon,  for  they  would 
start  at  dawn." 

"  They  will  come  soon,"  said  a  young  telegraph  clerk 
coolly,  as  he  stood  by  his  instrument  hoping  for  a  wel- 
come kling;  sending,  finally,  that  bulletin  northward 
which  ended  with  the  reluctant  admission,  "  we  must 
shut  up."  Must  indeed;  seeing  that  some  ruffians 
rushed  in  and  sabered  him  with  his  hands  still  on  the 
levers. 

"  They  will  be  here  soon,"  agreed  the  compositors  of 
the  DcUii  Gaacttc  as  they  worked  at  the  strangest  piece 
of  printing  the  world  is  ever  likely  to  see.  That  famous 
extra,  wedged  in  between  English  election  news,  which 
told  in  bald  journalese  of  a  crisis,  which  became  the  crisis 
of  their  own  lives  before  the  whole  edition  was  sent  out. 

But  down  in  the  Palace  Zeenut  Maihl  had  been  watch- 
ing that  white  streak  of  road  also,  and  as  the  hours 
passed,  her  wild  impatience  would  let  her  watch  it  no 
longer.  She  paced  up  and  down  the  Queen's  bastion  like 
a  caged  tigress,  leaving  Hafzan  to  take  her  place  at  the 
lattice.  No  sign  of  an  avenging  army  yet!  Then  the 
troopers'  tale  must  be  true!  The  hour  of  decisive  action 
had  come,  it  was  slipping  past,  the  King  was  in  the  hands 
of  Ahsan-Oolah,  and  Elahi  Buksh,  whose  face  was  set 
both  ways,  like  the  physician's.  And  she,  helpless,  half  in 
disgrace,  caged,  veiled,  screened,  unable  to  lay  hands  on 
anyone!  Oh!  why  was  she  not  a  man!  Why  had  she 
not  a  man  to  deal  with!  Her  henna-stained  nails  bit 
into  her  palms  as  she  clenched  her  hands,  then  in  sheer 


2  40  ON    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

childish  passion  tore  off  her  hampering  veil  and,  rolling 
it  into  a  ball,  flung  it  at  the  head  of  a  drowsy  eunuch  in 
the  outside  arcade — the  nearest  thing  to  a  man  within 
her  reach. 

"  No  sign  yet,  Hafzan?  "  she  asked  fiercely. 

"  No  sign,  my  Queen,"  replied  Hafzan,  with  an  odd 
derisive  smile.  If  they  did  not  come  now,  thought  this 
woman  with  her  warped  nature,  they  would  come  later 
on;  come  and  put  a  rope  round  the  necks  of  men  who 
had  laid  violent  hands  on  women. 

"Then  I  stop  here  no  longer!"  cried  Zeenut  Maihl 
recklessly;  "  I  must  see  somewhat  of  it  or  die.  Quick, 
girls,  my  dhooli,  I  will  go  back  to  my  own  rooms. 
'Twill  at  least  bear  me  through  the  crowd,  and  the  jog- 
ging will  keep  the  blood  from  tingling  from  very  still- 
ness." 

So  through  the  tawdry,  dirty,  musky  curtains  a 
woman's  fierce  eye  watched  the  crowd  hungrily,  as  the 
dhooli  swung  through  it.  A  fierce  crowd  too  in  its  way, 
but  lacking  cohesion.  Like  the  world  without  those 
four  rose-red  walls,  it  was  waiting  for  a  master.  And 
the  man  who  should  have  been  master  was  taking  cool- 
ing draughts,  and  composing  couplets,  so  her  spies 
brought  word.  No  hope  from  him  till  she  could  lure 
him  back  from  his  vexation  and  put  some  of  her  own 
energy  into  him.  Who  next  was  there  likely  to  do  her 
bidding?  Her  eye,  taking  in  all  the  strangeness  of  the 
scene,  troopers  stabling  their  horses  in  the  colonnades, 
sepoys  bivouacking  under  the  trees,  courtiers  hurrying 
u])  and  down  the  private  steps,  found  none  in  all  that 
crowd  of  place-hunters,  boasters,  enthusiasts,  whom  she 
could  trust.  The  King's  eldest  son  Mirza  Moghul  was 
the  fiercest  tempered  of  them  all,  the  only  one  whom  she 
feared  in  any  way;  perhaps  if  she  could  get  hold  of 
him 

As  her  dhooli  swayed  up  the  steps  he  was  standing  on 
them  talking  to  Mirza  Khair  Sultan.  She  could  have 
put  out  her  hand  and  touched  him;  but  even  she  did  not 
dare  convention  enough  for  that.  Nevertheless,  the 
sight  of  him  determined  her.  If  the  King  did  not  come 
back  to  her  by  noon,  she  must  lure  the  Mirza  to  her  side. 


NOON.  241 

"  Tliou  art  a  fool,  Pir-jee,"  she  said  petulantly  to 
Hussan  Askuri  who,  as  father  confessor,  had  entrance  to 
the  womens'  rooms  and  was  awaiting  her.  *'  Thou  hast 
no  grip  on  the  King  when  I  am  absent.  Canst  not  even 
drive  that  slithering  physician  from  his  side?" 

''  Cooling  draughts,  seest  thou,  Pir-jee,"  put  in  Hafzan 
maliciously,  "  have  tangible  efifects.     Thy  dreams " 

"  Peace,  woman!  "  interrupted  the  Queen  sternly, 
"  'tis  no  time  for  jesting.     Where  sits  the  King  now?  " 

"  In  the  river  balcony,  Ornament-of-palaces,"  replied 
Fatma  glibly,  "  where  he  is  not  to  be  disturbed  these 
two  hours,  so  the  physician  says,  lest  the  cooling 
draught " 

The  Queen  stamped  her  foot  in  sheer  impotent  rage. 

'*  I  must  see  someone.  And  Jewan  Bukht,  my  son? 
why  hath  he  not  answered  my  summons?" 

"  His  Highness,"  put  in  Hafzan  gravely,  "  was,  as  I 
came  by  just  now,  quarreling  in  his  cups  with  his 
nephew,  the  princely  Abool-Bukr,  regarding  the 
Inspectorship-of-Cavalry ;  which  office  both  desire — a 
weighty  matter " 

"Peace!  she-devil!"  almost  screamed  the  Queen. 
"  Can  I  not  see,  can  I  not  hear  for  myself,  that  thy  sharp 
wits  must  forever  drag  the  rotten  heart  to  light — thou 
wilt  go  too  far,  some  day,  Hafzan,  and  then " 

"  The  Queen  will  have  to  find  another  scribe,"  replied 
Hafzan  meekly. 

Zeenut  Mailil  glared  at  her,  then  rolled  round  into  her 
cushions  as  if  she  were  in  actual  physical  pain.  And 
hark!  From  the  Lahore  gate,  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened, came  the  chime  of  noon.  Xoon!  and  nothing 
done.  She  sat  up  suddenly  and  signed  to  Hafzan  for 
pen  and  ink.  She  would  wait  no  longer  for  the  King; 
she  would  at  least  try  the  Mirza. 

"  '  This,  to  the  most  illustrious  the  ]\Iirza  Aloghul, 
Heir-Apparent  by  right  to  the  throne  of  Timoor,'  "  she 
dictated  firmly,  and  Hafzan  looked  up  startled.  "  Write 
on,  fool,"  she  continued;  "  hast  never  written  lies  before? 
'  After  salutation  the  Begum  Zeenut  Maihl,' " — the 
humbler  title  came  from  her  lips  in  a  tone  which  boded 
ill  for  the  recipient  of  the  letter  if  he  fell  into  the  toils, — 


242  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

"  '  seeing  that  in  this  hour  of  importance  the  King  is  sick, 
and  by  order  of  physicians  not  to  be  disturbed,  would 
know  if  the  Mirza,  being  by  natural  right  the  King's 
vice-regent,  desires  the  private  seal  to  any  orders  neces- 
sary for  peace  and  protection.  Such  signet  being  in  the 
hands  of  the  Queen ' — nay,  not  that,  I  was  forget- 
ting— '  the  Begum.'  " 

She  gave  an  angry  laugh  as  she  lay  back  among  her 
cushions  and  bid  them  send  the  letter  forthwith.  That 
should  make  him  nibble.  Not  that  she  had  the  signet — 
the  King  kept  that  on  his  own  finger — but  if  the  Mirza 
came  on  pretense  or  rather  in  hopes  of  getting  it?  Why! 
then;  if  the  proper  order  was  given  and  if  she  could 
insure  the  aid  of  men  to  carry  out  her  schemes,  the  signet 
should  be  got  at  somehow.  The  King  was  old  and  frail; 
the  storm  and  stress  might  well  kill  him. 

So  her  thoughts  ranged  from  one  plot  to  another  as 
she  waited  for  an  answer.  If  this  lure  succeeded,  she 
would  but  use  the  Heir-Apparent  for  a  time.  What  use 
was  there  in  plotting  for  him?  He  could  die,  as  other 
heirs  had  died;  and  then  the  onlv  person  likely  to  put  a 
spoke  in  her  wheel  was  Abool-Bukr.  He  was  teaching 
his  young  uncle  the  first  pleasures  of  manhood,  and 
might  find  it  convenient  to  influence  the  boy  against  her. 
It  would  be  well  therefore  to  get  hold  of  him  also.  That 
was  not  a  hard  task,  and  she  sat  up  again  without  a 
moment's  hesitation  and  signed  once  more  to  Hafzan. 

"  Thy  best  flourishes,"  she  said  with  an  evil  sneer,  '*  for 
it  goes  to  a  rare  scholar;  to  a  fool  for  all  that,  who  would 
have  folk  think  nephews  visit  their  aunts  from  duty! 
'This  to  Newasi  loving  and  beloved,  greeting.  Conse- 
c|uent  on  the  disturbances,  the  princely  nephew  Abool- 
Bukr  lieth  senseless  here  in  the  Palace.'  Stare  not,  fool! 
senseless  drunk  he  is  by  this  time,  I  warrant.  '  Those 
who  have  seen  him  think  ill  of  him.'  "  Here  she  broke 
ofif  into  malicious  enjoyment  of  her  own  wit.  "  Ay!  and 
those  who  have  but  heard  of  him  also!  ''The  course  of 
events,  however,  being  in  the  hands  of  Heaven,  will  be 
duly  reported.'  " 

She  coiled  herself  up  again  on  the  cushions,  an  insig- 


noon:  243 

iiificant  square  homely  fif^ure  draped  in  worn  brocade 
and  laden  with  tarnished  jewelry;  ill-matched  strings  of 
pearls,  flawed  emeralds,  diamonds  without  sparkle. 
Yet  not  without  a  certain  dignity,  a  certain  symmetry  of 
purpose,  harmonizing  with  the  arched  and  frescoed  room 
in  which  she  lay;  a  room  beautiful  in  design  and  decora- 
tion, yet  dirty,  comfortless,  almost  squalid. 

"Nay!  not  my  signature,"  she  yawned.  "I  am  too 
old  a  foe  of  the  scholars ;  but  a  smudge  o'  the  thumb  will 
do.  If  I  know  aught  of  aunts  and  nephews,  she  will  be 
too  much  flustered  by  the  news  to  look  at  seals.  And 
have  word  sent  to  the  Delhi  gate  that  the  Princess  Fark- 
hoonda  be  admitted,  but  goes  not  forth  again." 

Her  hard  voice  ceased;  there  was  no  sound  in  the 
room  save  that  strange  hum  from  the  gardens  outside, 
which  at  this  hour  of  the  day  were  generally  wrapped  in 
sun-drugged  slumbers. 

But  the  world  beyond,  toward  which  the  old  King's 
lusterless  eyes  looked  as  he  lay  on  the  river  balcony, 
was  sleepy,  sun-drugged  as  ever.  Through  the  tracery- 
set  arches  showed  yellow  stretches  of  sand  and  curving 
river,  with  tussocks  of  tall  tiger-grass  hiding  the  slender 
stems  of  the  palm-trees  which  shot  up  here  and  there 
into  the  blue  sky;  blue  with  the  yellow  glaze  upon  \\. 
which  comes  from  sheer  sunlight.  A  row  of  saringlii 
players  squatted  in  the  room  behind  the  balcony,  thrum- 
ming softly,  so  as  to  hide  that  strange  hum  of  life  which 
reached  even  here.  For  the  King  was  writing  a  couplet 
and  was  in  difficulties  with  a  rhyme  for  cartouche  (cart- 
ridge) ;  since  he  was  a  stickler  for  form,  holding  that  the 
keynote  of  the  lines  should  jingle.  And  this  couplet  was 
to  epitomize  the  situation  on  the  other  side  of  the 
saringhics.  Cartovchcf  Cartouche?  Suddenly  he  sat 
up.  "Quick!  send  for  Hussan  Askuri;  or  stay!"  he 
hesitated  for  an  instant.  Hussan  Askuri  would  be  with 
the  Queen,  and  no  one  ever  admired  his  couplets  as  she 
did.  How  many  hours  was  it  since  he  had  seen  her? 
And  what  was  the  use  of  making  couplets,  if  you  were 
denied  their  just  meed  of  praise?  "Stay,"  he  repeated, 
"  I  will  go  myself."     It  was  a  relief  to  feel  himself  on  the 


244  OM    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

way  back  to  be  led  by  the  nose,  and  as  they  helped  him 
across  the  intervening  courtyard  he  kept  repeating  his 
treasure,  imagining  her  face  when  she  heard  it. 

"  Kuchch  Chil-i-Room  naliin  kya,  ya  Shah-i-Roos,  nahin 
Jo  Kuchch  kya  na  sara  se,  so  cartouche  ne." 

A  couplet,  which,  lingering  still  in  the  mouths  of  the 
people,  warrants  the  old  poetaster's  conceit  of  it,  and — 
dog-anglicized — runs  thus: 

"  Nor  Czar  nor  Sultan  made  the  conquest  easy, 
The  only  weapon  was  a  cartridge  greasy." 

"The  Queen?  Where  is  the  Queen?"  fumed  the  old 
man,  when  he  found  an  empty  room  instead  of  instant 
flattery;  for  he  was,  after  all,  the  Great  Moghul. 

"  She  prays  for  the  King's  recovery,"  said  Fatma 
readily.  "  I  will  inform  her  that  her  prayer  is  granted." 
But  as  she  passed  on  her  errand,  she  winked  at  a  com- 
panion, who  hid  her  giggle  in  her  veil;  for  Grand  Turk  or 
not,  the  women  hold  all  the  trump  cards  in  seclusion.  So 
how  was  the  old  man  to  know  that  the  one  who  came  in 
radiant  with  exaggerated  delight  at  his  return,  had  been 
interviewing  his  eldest  son  behind  decorous  screens,  and 
that  she  was  thanking  Heaven  piously  for  having  sent 
him  back  to  her  apron-string  in  the  very  nick  of  time. 
Sent  him,  and  Hussan  Askuri,  and  pen  and  ink  within 
reach  of  her  quick  wit. 

"  That  is  the  best  couplet  my  lord  has  done,"  she  said 
superbly.     "  That  must  be  signed  and  sealed." 

So  must  a  paper  be,  which  lay  concealed  in  her  bosom. 
And  as  she  spoke  she  drew  the  signet  ring  lovingly,  play- 
fully from  the  King's  finger  and  walked  over  to  where 
the  scribe  sat  crouched  on  the  floor. 

"  Ink  it  well,  Pir-jee,"  she  said,  keeping  her  back  to 
the  King;  "  the  impression  must  be  as  immortal  as  the 
verse." 

Despite  the  warning,  a  very  keen  ear  might  have 
detected  a  double  sound,  as  if  the  seal  had  needed  a 
second  pressure.     That  was  all. 

So  it  came  about  that,  half  an  hour  or  so  afterward,  the 
Head-of-the-nine  at  the  magazine  was  looking  contemp- 


NOOX.  245 

tuously  at  a  paper  brought  by  the  Palace  Guards,  and 
passed  under  the  door,  ordering  its  instant  opening. 
George  Willoughby  laughed;  but  some  of  the  eight 
dashed  people's  impudence  and  cursed  their  cheek! 
Yet,  after  the  laugh,  the  Head-of-the-nine  walked  over, 
yet  another  time,  to  that  river  bastion  to  look  down  at 
that  white  streak  of  road.  How  many  times  he  had 
looked  already,  Heaven  knows;  but  his  grave  face  had 
grown  graver,  though  it  brightened  again  after  a  glance 
at  the  lemon  bush.  The  black  streak  there  would  not 
fail  them. 

"  In  the  King's  name  open!  "  The  demand  came 
from  Mirza  Moghul  himself  this  time,  for  the  Palace  was 
without  arms,  withovit  ammunition;  and  if  they  were  to 
defend  it,  according  to  the  Queen's  idea,  against  all 
comers,  till  there  was  time  for  other  regiments  to  rebel, 
this  matter  of  the  magazine  was  important.  Abool-Bukr 
was  wnth  him,  half-drunk,  wholly  incapable,  but  full  of 
valor;  for  a  scout  sent  by  the  Queen  had  returned  with 
the  news  that  no  English  soldier  was  within  ten  miles  of 
Delhi,  and  within  the  last  half  hour  an  ominous  word  had 
begun  to  pass  from  lip  to  lip  in  the  city. 

Helpless! 

The  masters  were  helpless.  Past  two  o'clock  and  not 
a  blow  in  revenge.  Helpless!  The  word  made  cowards 
brave,  and  brave  folk  cowards.  And  many  who  had 
spent  the  long  hours  in  peeping  from  their  closed  doors 
at  each  fresh  clatter  in  the  street,  hoping  it  was  the  mas- 
ter, looked  at  each  other  with  startled  eyes. 

Helpless!     Helpless! 

The  echo  of  the  thought  reached  the  main-guard,  still 
in  touch  with  the  outside  world,  whence,  as  the  day 
dragged  by,  fresh  hidings  of  danger  drifted  down  from 
the  Ridge,  where  men,  women,  and  children  lay  huddled 
helplessly  in  the  Flagstaff  Tower,  watching  the  white 
streak  of  road.  It  seems  like  a  bad  dream,  that  hopeless, 
paralyzing  strain  of  the  eyes  for  a  cloud  of  dust. 

But  the  echo  won  no  way  into  the  magazine,  for  the 
simple  reason  that  it  knew  it  was  not  hopeless.  It  could 
hold  its  own. 

"  Shoot  that  man  Kureem  Buksh,  please,  Forrest,  if  he 


246  ON    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

comes  ])otlicring  round  the  gate  again.  He  is  really  very 
annoying.  I  have  told  him  several  times  to  keep  back; 
so  it  is  no  use  his  trying  to  give  information  to  the  people 
outside." 

For  the  Head-of-the-nine  was  very  courteous.  "  Scal- 
ing ladders?"  he  echoed,  when  a  native  superintendent 
told  him  that  the  princes,  finding  him  obdurate,  had 
gone  to  send  some  down  from  the  Palace.  "  Oh!  by  all 
means  let  them  scale  if  they  like." 

Some  of  the  Eight,  hearing  the  reply,  smiled  grimly. 
By  all  means  let  the  flies  walk  into  the  parlor;  for  if  that 
straight  streak  of  road  was  really  going  to  remain  empty, 
the  fuller  the  four  square  walls  round  the  lemon  bush 
could  be,  the  better. 

"  That's  them,  sir,"  said  one  of  the  Eight  cheerfully, 
as  a  grating  noise  rose  above  the  hum  outside.  "  That's 
the  grapnels."  And  as  he  turned  to  his  particular  gun 
of  the  ten,  he  told  himself  that  he  would  nick  the  first 
head  or  two  with  his  rifle  and  keep  the  grape  for  the 
bunches.  So  he  smiled  at  his  own  little  joke  and  waited. 
All  the  Nine  waited,  each  to  a  gun,  and  of  course  there 
was  one  gun  over,  but,  as  the  head  of  them  had  said,  that 
could  not  be  helped.  And  so  the  rifle-triggers  clicked, 
and  the  stocks  came  up  to  the  shoulders;  and  then? — 
then  there  was  a  sort  of  laugh,  and  someone  said  under 
his  breath,  "Well,  I'm  blowed!"  And  his  mind  went 
back  to  the  streets  of  London,  and  he  wondered  how 
many  years  it  was  since  he  had  seen  a  lamplighter.  For 
up  ropes  and  poles,  on  roofs  and  outhouses,  somehow, 
clinging  like  limpets,  running  like  squirrels  along  the 
top  of  the  wall,  upsetting  the  besiegers,  monopolizing  the 
ladders,  was  a  rush,  not  of  attack  but  of  escape!  Let 
what  fool  who  liked  scale  the  wall  and  come  into  the 
parlor  of  the  Nine,  those  who  knew  the  secret  of  the 
lemon-bush  were  ofif.  No  safety  there  beside  the  Nine! 
No  life-insurance  possible  while  that  lay  ready  tG  their 
hand ! 

Would  he  ever  see  a  lamplighter  again?  The  trivial 
thought  was  with  the  bearded  man  who  stood  by  his  gun, 
the  real  self  in  him,  hidden  behind  the  reserve  of  courage, 
asking  other  questions  too,  as  he  waited  for  the  upward 


NOON.  247 

rush  of  fugitives  to  change  into  a  downward  rusli  of 
foes  worthy  of  good  powder  and  shot. 

It  came  at  last — and  the  grape  came  too,  mowing  the 
intruders  down  in  bunches.  And  these  were  no  mere 
rabble  of  the  city.  They  were  the  pick  of  the  trained 
mutineers  swarming  over  the  wall  to  stand  on  the  out- 
house roofs  and  fire  at  the  Nine;  and  so,  pressed  in 
gradually  from  behind,  coming  nearer  and  nearer,  drop- 
ping to  the  ground  in  solid  ranks,  firing  in  platoons;  so 
by  degrees  hemming  in  the  Nine,  hemming  in  the  lemon- 
bush. 

But  the  Nine  were  busy  with  the  guns.  They  had  to 
be  served  quickly,  and  that  left  no  time  for  thought. 
Then  the  smoke,  and  the  flashes,  and  the  yells,  and  the 
curses,  filled  up  the  rest  of  the  world  for  the  present. 

'*  This  is  the  last  round,  I'm  afraid,  sir;  we  shan't  have 
time  for  another,"  said  a  warning  voice  from  the  Nine, 
and  the  Head  of  them  looked  round  quietly.  Not  more 
than  forty  yards  now  from  the  guns;  barely  time,  cer- 
tainly, unless  they  had  had  that  other  man!  So  he 
nodded.  And  the  last  round  pealed  out  as  recklessly,  as 
defiantly,  as  if  there  had  been  a  hundred  to  follow — 
and  a  hundred  thousand — a  hundred  million.  But  one 
of  the  gunners  threw  down  his  fuse  ere  his  gun  recoiled, 
and  ran  in  lightly  toward  the  lemon-tree,  so  as  to  be 
ready  for  the  favor  he  had  begged. 

"  We're  about  full  up,  sir,"  came  the  warning  voice 
again,  as  the  rest  of  the  Nine  fell  back  amid  a  desultory 
rattle  of  small  arms.  The  tinkle  of  the  last  church  bell, 
as  it  were,  warning  folk  to  hurry  up — a  last  invitation  to 
walk  into  the  parlor  of  the  Nine. 

"  We're  about  full  up,  sir,"  came  that  one  voice. 

"  Wait  half  a  second,"  came  another,  and  the  Head- 
of-the-nine  ran  lightly  to  that  river  bastion  for  a  last 
look  down  the  white  streak  for  that  cloud  of  dust. 

How  sunny  it  was!  How  clear!  How  still!  that  world 
beyond  the  smoke,  beyond  the  flashes,  beyond  the  deafen- 
ing yells  and  curses.  He  gave  one  look  at  it,  one  short 
look — only  one — then  turned  to  face  his  own  world,  the 
world  he  had  to  keep.  Full  up  indeed!  No  pyrotech- 
nist could  hope  for  better  audience  in  so  small  a  place. 


248  ON    THE  FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

"  Now,  if  ycu  please!  " 

Someone  in  the  thick  of  the  smoke  and  the  flashes 
heard  the  yells  and  curses  and  raised  his  cap — a  last 
salute,  as  it  were,  to  the  school  and  schoolmaster.  A 
final  dismissal  to  the  scholars — a  thousand  of  them  or  so 
— about  to  finish  their  lesson  of  what  men  can  do  to  hold 
their  own.  And  someone  else,  standing  beside  the 
lemon-bush,  bent  over  that  faithful  black  streak,  then 
ran  for  dear  life  from  the  hissing  of  that  snake  of  fire 
flashing  to  the  powder  magazine. 

A  faint  sob,  a  whispering  gasp  of  horror,  came  from  the 
thousand  and  odd;  but  above  it  came  a  roar,  a  rush,  a 
rending.  A  little  pufT  of  white  smoke  went  skyward 
first,  and  then  slowly,  majestically,  a  great  cloud  of  rose- 
red  dust  grew  above  the  ruins,  to  hang — a  corona  glit- 
tering in  the  slant  sunbeams — over  the  school,  the 
schoolmasters,  and  the  scholars. 

It  hung  there  for  hours.  To  those  who  know  the 
story  it  seems  to  hang  there  still — a  bloody  pall  for  the 
many;  for  the  Nine,  a  crown  indeed. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SUNSET. 

"  What's  that?  " 

The  question  sprung  to  every  lip;  yet  all  knew  the 
answer.     The  magazine  had  saved  itself. 

But  in  the  main-guard,  not  six  hundred  yards  ofif, 
where  the  very  ground  rocked  and  the  walls  shook,  the 
men  and  women,  pent  up  since  noon,  looked  at  each 
other  when  the  first  shock  was  over,  feeling  that  here  was 
the  end  of  inaction.  Here  was  a  distinct,  definite  chal- 
lenge to  Fate,  and  what  would  come  of  it?  It  was  now 
close  on  to  four  o'clock;  the  day  was  over,  the  darkness 
at  hand.  What  would  it  bring  them?  If  Meerut,  with 
its  two  thousand,  was  so  sore  bested  that  it  could  not 
spare  one  man  to  Delhi,  what  could  they,  a  mere  handful, 
hope  for  save  annihilation? 


SUNSET.  249 

Yet  even  Mrs.  Seymour  only  clasped  her  baby  closer, 
and  said  nothing.  P'or  there  was  no  lack  of  courage 
anywhere.  And  Kate,  with  another  child  in  her  arms, 
paused  as  she  laid  it  down,  asleep  at  last,  upon  an  officer's 
coat,  to  feel  a  certain  relief.  If  they  were  to  fare  thus, 
that  bitter  self-reproach  and  agonizing  doubt  for  vanished 
Sonny  was  unavailing.  His  chance  might  well  be  better 
than  theirs. 

Well  indeed,  pent  up  as  they  were  cheek-by-jowl  with 
four  hundred  unstable  sepoys,  and  with  the  ominously 
rising  hum  of  the  unstable  city  on  their  unprotected  rear. 
Up  on  the  Flagstaff  Tower  crowning  the  extreme  north- 
ern end  of  the  Ridge,  away  from  this  hum,  where  Briga- 
dier Graves  had  gathered  together  the  remaining  women 
and  children,  so  as  to  guard  them  as  best  he  could  with 
such  troops  as  he  had  remaining — many  of  them  too  un- 
stable to  be  trusted  cityward — they  were  in  better  plight. 
For  they  had  the  open  country  round  them — a  country 
where  folk  could  still  go  and  come  with  a  fair  chance  of 
safety,  since  even  the  predatory  tribes,  always  ready  to 
take  advantage  of  disorder,  were  still  waiting  to  see  what 
master  the  day  would  bring  forth.  And  they  had  also 
the  knowledge  that  something  was  being  done,  that  they 
were  not  absolutely  passive  in  the  hands  of  Fate,  after 
Dr.  Batson  started  in  disguise  to  summon  that  aid  from 
Meerut  which  would  not  come  of  itself.  Above  all,  they 
had  the  decision,  they  had  the  power  to  act;  while  down 
in  the  main-guard  they  could  but  obey  orders.  Xot  that 
the  Flagstafif  Tower  did  much  with  this  advantage;  for 
it  was  paralyzed  by  that  straining  of  the  eyes  for  a  cloud 
of  dust  upon  the  Aleerut  road  which  was  the  damnation  of 
Delhi.  Yet  even  here  that  decisive  roar,  that  corona  of 
red  dust  brightening  every  instant  as  the  sun  dipped  to 
the  horizon,  brought  ihe  conviction  that  something  must 
be  done  at  last.  But  what?  Hampered  by  women  and 
children,  what  could  they  do?  If,  earlier  in  the  day.  they 
had  sent  all  the  non-combatants  ofT  toward  Kurnal  or 
Meerut,  with  as  many  faithful  sepoys  as  they  could  spare, 
arming  everybody  from  the  arsenal  down  by  the  river, 
they  would  have  been  free  to  make  some  forlorn  hope — 
free,  for  instance,  to  go  down  en-massc  to  the  main- 


250  Oy    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

guard  and  hold  it,  if  they  could.  That  was  what  one  man 
thought,  who,  seven  miles  out  from  Delhi — returning 
from  a  reconnoissance  of  his  own  to  see  if  help  were  on 
the  way — saw  that  little  pufif  of  smoke,  heard  the  roar, 
and  watched  the  red  corona  grow  to  brightness. 

But  on  the  Ridge,  men  thought  differently.  The 
claims  of  those  patient  women  and  children  seemed  para- 
mount, and  so  it  was  decided  to  get  back  the  guns  from 
the  main-guard  as  a  first  step  toward  intrenching  them- 
selves for  the  night  at  the  tower.  But  the  men  in  the 
main-guard  looked  at  each  other  in  doubt  when  the 
order  reached  them.  Was  the  garrison  going  to  be 
withdrawn  altogether,  leaving  merely  a  forlorn  hope  to 
keep  the  gate  closed  as  long  as  possible  against  the  out- 
burst of  rabble,  to  whom  it  would  be  the  natural  and 
shortest  route  to  cantonments?  If  so,  surely  it  would 
have  been  better  to  send  the  women  away  first?  Still 
the  orders  were  clear,  and  so  the  gate  was  set  wide  and 
the  guns  rumbled  over  the  drawbridge  under  escort  of 
a  guard  of  the  38th.  That,  at  any  rate,  was  good 
riddance  of  bad  rubbish;  though  the  wisdom  of  sending 
the  guns  in  such  charge  was  doubtful.  Yet  how  could 
the  little  garrison  have  aft'orded  to  give  up  a  single  man 
even  of  the  still  loyal  74th? — a  company  of  wdiom  had 
actually  followed  their  captain  to  the  ruins  of  the  maga- 
zine to  see  if  they  could  do  anything,  and  returned,  with- 
out a  defaulter,  to  say  that  all  was  confusion — the  dead 
lying  about  in  hundreds,  the  enemy  nowhere. 

"How  did  the  men  behave,  Gordon?"  asked  their 
commandant  anxiously,  getting  his  Captain  into  a  quiet 
corner.  And  the  two  men,  both  beloved  of  their  regi- 
ment, both  believing  in  it,  both  with  a  fierce,  wild  hope  in 
their  hearts  that  such  belief  would  be  justified,  looked 
into  each  other's  faces  for  a  moment  in  silence.  There 
was  a  shadowing  branch  of  neem  overhead  as  they  stood 
in  the  sunlight.  A  squirrel  upon  it  was  chippering  at  the 
glitter  of  their  buckles ;  a  kite  overhead  was  watching  the 
squirrel. 

"  I  think  they  hesitated,  sir,"  said  Captain  Gordon 
quietly. 

Major  Abbott  turned  hastily,  and  looked  through  the 


SUXSET.  251 

open  gate,  past  the  lumbering  guns,  to  the  open  country 
lying  peaceful,  absolutely  peaceful,  beyond.  If  he  could 
only  have  got  his  men  there — away  from  the  disloyalty 
of  the  38th  guard,  the  sullen  silence  of  the  54th — if  he 
could  only  have  given  them  something  to  do!  If  he 
could  only  have  said  "Follow  me!"  they  would  have 
followed. 

And  Kate  Erlton,  who,  weary  of  the  deadly  inaction 
in  the  room  above,  had  drifted  down  to  the  courtyard, 
stood  close  to  the  archway  looking  through  it  also,  think- 
ing, not  for  the  first  time  that  weary  day,  of  Alice  Giss- 
ing's  swift,  heroic  death  with  envy.  It  was  something  to 
die  so  that  brave  men  turned  away  without  a  word  when 
they  heard  of  it.  But  as  she  thought  this,  the  look  on 
young  Mainwaring's  face  as  he  stood  with  others  listen- 
ing to  her  story,  came  back  to  her.  It  had  haunted  her 
all  day,  and  more  than  once  she  had  sought  him  out, 
not  for  condolence — he  was  beyond  that — but  for  a 
trivial  word  or  two;  just  a  human  word  or  two  to  show 
him  remembered  by  the  living.  And  now  the  impulse 
came  to  her  again,  and  she  drifted  back — for  there  was  no 
liurry  in  that  deadly,  deadly  inaction — to  find  him  leaning 
listlessly  against  a  wall  digging  holes  in  the  dry  dust  idly 
with  the  point  of  his  drawn  sword  for  want  of  something 
better  whereupon  to  use  it.  Such  a  young  face,  she 
thought,  to  be  so  old  in  its  chill  anger  and  despair!  She 
went  over  to  him  swiftly,  her  reserve  gone,  and  laid  her 
hand  upon  his  holding  the  sword. 

"  Don't  fret  so,  dear  boy,"  she  said,  and  the  fine  curves 
of  her  mouth  quivered.     "  She  is  at  peace." 

He  looked  at  her  in  a  blaze  of  fierce  reproach.  "  At 
peace!  How  dare  you  say  so?  How  dare  you  think  so 
— when  she  lies — therej' 

He  paused,  impotent  for  speech  before  his  unbridled 
hatred,  then  strode  away  indignantly  from  her  pity,  her 
consolation.  And  as  she  looked  after  him  her  own 
gentler  nature  was  conscious  of  a  pride,  almost  a  pleasure 
in  the  thought  of  the  revenge  which  would  surely  be 
taken  sooner  or  later,  by  such  as  he,  for  every  woman, 
every  child  killed,  wounded — even  touched.  She  was 
conscious  of  it,  even  though  she  stood  aghast  before  a 


25^  av    THE  FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

vision  of  the  years  stretching  away  into  an  eternity  of 
division  and  mutual  hate. 

A  fresh  stir  at  the  gate  roused  her,  a  quick  stir  among 
a  group  of  senior  officers,  recruited  now  by  two  juniors 
who  had  earned  their  right  to  have  their  say  in  any  coun- 
cil of  war.  These  were  two  artillery  subalterns,  begrimed 
from  head  to  foot,  deafened,  disfigured,  hardly  believing 
in  their  own  safety  as  yet.  Looking  at  each  other 
queerly,  wondering  if  indeed  they  could  be  the  Head- 
of-the-nine  and  his  second  in  command,  escaped  by  a 
miracle  through  the  sally  port  in  the  outer  wall  of  the 
magazine,  and  so  come  back  by  the  drawbridge,  as  Kate 
Erlton  had  come,  to  join  the  refugees  in  the  main-guard. 
Was  it  possible?  And — and — what  would  the  world  say? 
That  thought  must  have  been  in  their  minds.  And,  no 
doubt,  a  vain  regret  that  they  were  under  orders  now, 
as  they  listened  while  JMajor  Abbott  read  out  those  just 
received  from  cantonments.  Briefly,  to  take  back  the 
whole  of  the  loyal  74th  and  leave  the  post  to  the  38th  and 
the  54th — about  a  hundred  and  fifty  openly  disloyal  men. 

A  sort  of  stunned  silence  fell  on  the  little  group,  till 
Major  Paterson  of  the  54th  said  quietly,  officially  to 
Major  Abbott.  "  If  you  leave,  sir,  I  shall  have  to 
abandon  the  post ;  I  could  not  possibly  hold  it.  Some  of 
my  men  who  have  returned  to  the  colors  here  might 
possibly  fight  w^ere  we  to  stick  together.  But  with  re- 
treat, and  the  example  of  the  38th  before  them,  they 
would  not.  I  have,  or  I  should  have,  lives  in  my  charge 
when  you  are  gone,  and  I  warn  you  that  I  must  use  my 
own  discretion  in  doing  the  best  I  can  to  protect  them." 

"  Paterson  is  right.  Abbott,"  put  in  the  civil  officer, 
who  had  stuck  to  his  charge  of  the  Treasury  all  day,  and 
repelled  the  only  attack  made  by  the  enemy  during  all 
those  long  hours.  "  If  I  am  to  do  any  good,  I  must  have 
men  w^ho  will  fight.  I  don't  trust  the  54th ;  and  the  38th 
are  clearly  just  biding  their  time.  This  retreat  might 
have  done  six  hours  ago — might  do  now  if  it  were 
general;  but  I  doubt  it." 

"  Anyhow,"  put  in  another  voice,  "  if  the  74th  are  to 
go,  they  should  take  the  women  with  them — they  couldn't 
fare  worse  than  they  are  sure  to  do  here.  I  don't  think 
the  Brisfadier  can  realize " 


SUNSET.  253 

"  Couldn't  you  refer  it?  "  asked  someone;  but  the  Major 
shook  his  head.  The  orders  were  clear;  no  doubt  there 
was  good  cause  for  them.  Anyhow  they  must  be 
obeyed. 

'*  Then  as  civil  officer  in  charge  of  the  Government 
Treasury,  I  ask  for  quarter-of-an-hour's  law.  If  by 
then " 

The  eager  voice  paused.  \\' hether  the  owner  thought 
once  more  of  that  expected  cloud  of  dust,  or  whether 
he  meant  to  gallop  to  cantonments  in  hope  of  getting  the 
order  rescinded  is  doubtful.  Whether  he  went  or  stayed 
doubtful  also.  But  the  fifteen  minutes  of  respite  w^erc 
given,  during  which  the  preparations  for  departure  went 
on,  the  men  of  the  38th  aiding  in  them  with  a  new- 
alacrity.  Their  time  had  come.  Only  a  few  minutes 
now  before  the  last  fear  of  a  hand-to-hand  light  would  be 
over,  the  last  chance  of  the  master  turning  and  rending 
them  gone.  It  lingered  a  bit,  though,  for  rumbling 
wheels  came  over  the  drawbridge  once  more,  and  voices 
clamored  to  be  let  in.  The  guns  had  returned.  The 
gunners  had  deserted,  said  the  escort  insolently,  and 
guns  being  in  such  case  useless,  they  had  preferred  to 
rejoin  their  brethren;  as  for  their  officer,  he  had  preferred 
to  go  on. 

Kate  Erlton,  drawn  from  the  inner  room  once  again  by 
the  creaking  of  the  gates,  saw  a  look  pass  between  one 
or  two  of  the  officers.  And  there,  stood  the  74th,  smart 
and  steady,  waiting  for  marching  orders.  No  need  to 
close  the  gates  again,  since  time  was  up ;  the  fifteen  min- 
utes had  slipped  by,  bringing  no  help,  just  as  the  long 
hours  had  dragged  by  uselessly.  So  the  gate  stood  open 
to  the  familiar,  friendly  landscape,  all  aglow  with  the  rays 
of  the  setting  sun.  Close  at  hand,  within  a  stone's  throw, 
lay  the  tall  trees  and  dense  flowering  thickets  of  the 
Koodsia  gardens,  where  fugitives  might  have  found 
cover.  To  the  left  were  the  ravines  and  rocks  of  the 
Ridge,  fatal  to^mounted  pursuit,  and  in  the  center  lay  the 
road  northward,  leading  straight  to  the  Punjab,  straight 
from  that  increasing  roar  of  the  city.  There  had  been 
no  attack  as  yet;  but  every  soul  within  the  main-guard 
knew  for  a  certainty  that  the  first  hint  of  retreat  would 
bring  it. 


25+  ON    771 E  FACE    OF   THE    WATERS. 

How  could  it  do  otherwise?  The  decisive  answer  of 
the  magazine,  with  its  thousand-and-odd  good  reasons 
against  the  beHef  that  the  master  was  helpless,  had  died 
away.  The  refuse  and  rabble  of  the  city  had  ceased  to 
wander  awestruck  among  the  ruins,  murmuring,  "  What 
tyranny  is  here?" — that  passive,  resigned  comment  of 
the  weaker  brother  in  India.  In  the  Palace,  too,  they  had 
recovered  the  shock  of  the  mean  trick  of  the  Nine,  who, 
however,  must,  thank  Heaven,  be  all  dead  too. 

So  as  the  gate  stood  open,  and  the  sun  streamed 
through  it  into  the  wide  courtyard,  glinting  on  the 
buckles  and  bayonets.  Major  Abbott's  voice  rose  quietly. 
"  Are  you  ready,  Gordon?  "  The  drawbridge  was  clear 
of  the  guns  now,  clear  of  everything  save  the  slant 
shadows. 

"  All  ready,  sir,"  came  the  quiet  reply. 

"  Number!  "  called  the  Commandant,  but  a  voice  at 
his  right  hand  pleaded  swiftly.  "  Don't  wait  for  sec- 
tions, Huzoor!  Let  us  go!"  And  another  at  his  left 
whispered,  "  For  God's  sake,  Huzoor!  quick;  get  them 
out  (juick!  " 

Major  Abbott  hesitated  a  second,  only  a  second.  The 
voices  were  the  voices  of  good  men  and  true,  whom  he 
could  trust.  "Fours  about!  Quick  march!"  he  cor- 
rected, and  a  sort  of  sigh  of  relief  ran  down  the  regiment 
as  it  swung  into  position  and  the  feet  started  rhyth- 
mically.    Action  at  last! — at  long  last! 

*'  Good-by,  old  chap,"  said  someone  cheerfully,  but 
Alajor  Abbott  did  not  turn.  "  Good-by!  Good-by!  " 
came  voices  all  round;  steady,  quiet  voices,  as  the  disci- 
plined tramp  echoed  on  the  drawbridge,  and  a  bar  of 
scarlet  coats  grew  on  the  rise  of  the  white  road  outside. 

"  Good-by,  Gordon!     Good-by!  " 

The  tall  figure  in  its  red  and  gold  was  under  the  very 
arch,  shining,  glittering  in  the  sunlight  streaming 
through  it.  Another  step  or  two  and  he  would  have  been 
beyond  it.  But  the  time  for  good-by  had  come.  The 
time  for  which  the  38th  had  been  waiting  all  day.  He 
threw  up  his  arms  and  fell  dead  from  his  horse  without 
a  cry,  shot  through  the  heart.  The  next  instant  the 
gate  was   closed,   its   creaking   smothered   in   the   wild, 


SUNSET.  255 

senseless  cry  '  To  kill,  to  kill,  to  kill,"  in  a  wild,  senseless 
rattle  of  musketry.  For  there  was  really  no  hurry;  the 
handful  of  Englishmen  were  helpless.  Major  Abbott 
and  his  men  might  clamor  for  re-entry  at  the  gate  if  they 
chose.  They  could  not  get  in.  Nor  could  the  remnant 
of  the  74th,  deprived  of  its  loyal  companions,  of  the  only 
two  men  who  seemed  to  have  controlled  it,  do  anything. 
And  the  54th  were  helpless  also  by  their  own  act ;  for  they 
had  pushed  Major  Paterson  through  the  gate  before  it 
closed. 

So  there  w'as  no  one  left  even  to  try  and  stem  the  tide. 
No  one  to  check  that  beast-like  cry. 

"  Mdro!    Mdro!     Maro!" 

But,  in  truth,  it  would  have  been  a  hopeless  task.  The 
game  was  up;  the  only  chance  was  flight.  And  two, 
foreseeing  this  for  the  last  hour,  had  already  made  good 
theirs  by  jumping  from  an  embrasure  in  the  rampart 
into  the  ditch,  while  one,  uninjured  by  the  fall,  had 
scrambled  up  the  counter-scarp,  and  was  running  like  a 
hare  for  those  same  thickets  of  the  Koodsia. 

"  Come  on!  Come  on!  "  cried  others,  seeing  their  suc- 
cess. And  then?  And  then  the  cries  and  piteous 
screams  of  women  reminded  them  of  something  dearer 
than  life,  and  they  ran  back  under  a  hail  of  bullets  to  that 
upper  room  which  they  had  forgotten  for  the  moment. 
And  somehow,  despite  the  cry  of  kill,  despite  the  whist- 
ling bullets,  they  managed  to  drag  its  inmates  to  the 
embrasure.  But — oh!  pathos  and  bathos  of  poor 
humanity!  making  smiles  and  tears  come  together — the 
women  who  had  stared  death  in  the  face  all  day  without 
a  wink,  stood  terrified  before  a  twenty-feet  scramble 
with  a  rope  of  belts  and  handkerchiefs  to  help  them.  It 
needed  a  round  shot  to  come  whizzing  a  message  of  cer- 
tain death  over  their  heads  to  give  them  back  a  courage 
which  never  failed  again  in  the  long  days  of  wandering 
and  desperate  need  which  was  theirs  ere  some  of  them 
reached  safety. 

But  Kate  neither  hesitated  nor  jumped.  She  had  not 
the  chance  of  doing  either.  For  that  longing  look  of 
hers  through  the  open  gates  had  tempted  her  to  creep 
along  the  wall  nearer  to  them;  so  that  the  rush  to  close 


256  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATEJiS. 

them  jammed  her  into  a  corner  against  a  door,  which 
yielded  sHghtly  to  her  weight.  Quick  enough  to  grasp 
her  imminent  danger,  she  stooped  instantly  to  see  if  the 
door  could  be  made  to  yield  further.  And  that  stoop 
saved  her  life,  by  hiding  her  from  view  behind  the  crowd. 
The  next  moment  she  had  pushed  aside  a  log  which  had 
evidently  rolled  from  some  pile  within,  and  slipped  side- 
ways into  a  dark  outhouse.  She  was  safe  so  far.  But 
was  it  worth  it?  The  impulse  to  go  out  again  and  brave 
merciful  death  rose  keen,  until  with  a  flash,  the  memory 
of  that  escape  through  the  crowd  came  back  to  her;  she 
seemed  to  hear  the  changing  ready  voice  of  the  man  who 
held  her,  to  feel  his  quick  instinctive  grip  on  every  chance 
of  life. 

Chance !  There  was  a  spell  in  the  very  word.  A  min- 
ute after  logs  jammed  the  door  again,  and  even  had  it 
been  set  wide,  none  would  have  guessed  that  a  woman, 
full  of  courage,  ay!  and  hope,  crouched  behind  the  piles 
of  brushwood.  So  she  lay  hidden,  her  strongest  emo- 
tion, strange  to  say,  being  a  raging  curiosity  to  know 
what  had  become  of  the  others,  what  was  passing  out- 
side. But  she  could  hear  nothing  save  confused  yells, 
with  every  now  and  again  a  dominant  cry  of  "  Dccn! 
Dccn!  "  or  "  Jai  Kali  ma!  "  For  faith  is  one  of  the  two 
great  passions  which  make  men  militant.  The  other, 
sex.  But  as  a  rule  it  has  no  cry;  it  fights  silently,  giv- 
ing and  asking  no  words — only  works. 

So  fought  young  Mainwaring,  who,  with  his  back  to 
that  same  wall  against  which  Kate  had  fovmd  him  lean- 
ing, was  using  his  sword  to  a  better  purpose  than  digging 
holes  in  the  dust;  or  rather  had  adopted  a  new  method 
of  doing  the  task.  He  had  not  tried  to  escape  as  the 
others  had  done ;  not  from  superior  courage,  but  because 
he  never  even  thought  of  it.  When  he  was  free  to 
choose,  how  could  he  think  of  leaving  those  devils  un- 
punished, leaving  them  unchecked  to  touch  her  dead 
body,  while  he  lived?  He  gave  a  little  faint  sob  of  sheer 
satisfaction  as  he  felt  the  first  soft  resistance,  which  meant 
that  his  sword  had  cut  into  flesh  and  blood;  for  all  his 
vigorous  young  life  made  for  death,  nothing  but  death. 
Was  not  she  dead  yonder? 


SUNSET.  257 

So,  after  a  bit,  it  seemed  to  him  there  was  too  Httle  of 
it  there — that  it  came  slowly,  with  his  back  to  the  wall 
and  only  those  who  cared  to  go  for  him  within  reach — 
for  the  crowd  was  dense,  too  dense  for  loading  and  fir- 
ing. Dense  with  a  hustling,  horrified  wonder,  a  con- 
fused prodding  of  bayonets.  So,  without  a  sound,  he 
charged  ahead,  hacking,  hewing,  never  pausing,  not  even 
making  for  freedom,  but  going  for  the  thickest  silently. 

"  Aniuk!  Sayia!  A-mnk!  "  The  yell  that  he  was  mad, 
possessed,  rang  hideously  as  men  tumbled  over  each 
other  in  their  hurry  to  escape,  their  hurry  to  have  at  this 
wild  beast,  this  devil,  this  horror.  And  they  were  right. 
He  was  possessed.  He  was  life  instinct  with  death; 
filled  with  but  one  desire — to  kill,  or  to  be  killed 
quickly. 

"  Saiya!  Amuk!  Saiya! — out  of  his  w^ay — out  of  his 
way!  Amuk!  Saiya!  Fate  is  with  him!  The  gods  are 
with  him.     Saiya!     Amuk! " 

So,  by  chance,  not  method;  so  by  sheer  terror  as  well 
as  hacking  and  hewing,  the  tall  figure  found  itself,  with 
but  a  stagger  or  two,  outside  the  wooden  gates,  out  on 
the  city  road,  out  among  the  gardens  and  the  green  trees. 
And  then,  "  Hip,  hip,  hurray!  "  His  ringing  cheer  rose 
with  a  sort  of  laugh  in  it.  For  yonder  was  her  house ! — 
her  house! 

"  Hip,  hip,  hurray!  "  As  he  ran,  as  he  had  run  in  races 
at  school,  his  young  face  glad,  the 'fingers  on  the  triggers 
behind  him  wavered  in  sheer  superstitious  funk,  and  two 
troopers  coming  down  the  road  wheeled  back  as  from  a 
mad  dog.  The  scarlet  coat  with  its  gold  epaulettes  went 
crashing  into  a  group  red-handed  with  their  spoil,  out  of 
it  impartially  into  a  knot  of  terrified  bystanders,  while 
down  the  lane  left  behind  it  by  the  hacking  and  hewing 
came  bullet  after  bullet;  the  fingers  on  the  triggers 
wavered,  but  some  found  a  billetv  One  badly.  He 
stumbled  in  the  dust  and  his  left  arm  fell  oddly.  But 
the  right  still  hacked  and  hewed  as  he  ran,  though  the 
crowd  lessened;  though  it  grew  thin,  too  thin  for  his  pur- 
pose; or  else  his  sight  was  failing.  But  there,  to  the 
right,  the  devils  seemed  thicker  again.  "  Hip,  hip,  hoo- 
rav!"     No!    trees.     Onlv    trees    to    hew — a    garden — 


258  O.y    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

perhaps  the  garden  about  her  house — then,  "  Hip, 
hip " 

He  feU  headlong  on  his  face,  biting  the  soft  earth  in 
sheer  despite  as  he  fell. 

"  Don't  touch  him,  brothers!  "  said  one  of  the  two  or 
three  who  had  followed  at  a  distance,  as  they  might  have 
followed  a  mad  dog,  which  they  hoped  others  would  meet 
and  kill.  "  Provoke  him  not,  or  the  demon  possessing 
him  may  possess  us.  'Tis  never  safe  to  touch  till  they 
have  been  dead  a  watch.  Then  the  poison  leaves  them. 
Krishnjee,  save  us!     Saw  you  how  he  turned  our  lead?  " 

"  He  has  eaten  mine,  I'll  swear,"  put  in  another  sepoy 
boastfully,  pointing  gingerly  with  his  booted  foot  to  a 
round  scorched  hole  in  the  red  coat.  "  The  muzzle  was 
against  him  as  I  fired." 

"  And  mine  shall  be  his  portion  too,"  broke  in  a  new 
arrival  breathlessly,  preparing  to  fire  at  the  prostrate 
foe;  but  the  first  speaker  knocked  aside  the  barrel  with  an 
oath. 

"  Not  while  I  stand  by,  since  devils  choose  the  best 
men.  As  'tis,  having  women  in  pur  houses  'twere  best 
to  take  precautions."  He  stooped  down  as  he  spoke, 
and  muttering  spells  the  while,  raised  a  little  heap  of  dust 
at  the  lad's  head  and  feet  and  outstretched  arms — a  little 
cross  of  dust,  as  it  were,  on  which  the  young  body  lay 
impaled. 

"  What  is't?  "  asked  a  haughty-looking  native  officer, 
pausing  as  he  rode  by. 

"  'Tis  a  hell-doomed  who  went  possessed,  and  Dittu 
makes  spells  to  keep  him  dead,"  said  one. 

"  Fool!  "  muttered  the  man.  "  He  was  drunk,  likely. 
They  get  like  that,  the  cursed  ones,  when  they  take  wine." 
And  he  spat  piously  on  the  red  coat  as  he  passed  on.  So 
they  left  the  lad  there  lying  face  down  in  the  growing 
gloom,  hedged  round  by  spells  to  keep  him  from  harming 
women.     Left  him  for  dead. 

But  the  scofifer  had  been  right.  He  was  drunk,  but 
with  the  Elixir  of  Life  and  Love  w^iich  holds  a  soul  cap- 
tive from  the  clasp  of  Death  for  a  space.  So,  after  a 
time,  the  cross  of  dust  gave  up  its  victim;  he  staggered 
to  his  feet  again;  and  so,  tumbling,  falling,  rising  to  fall 


SC/JVSET.  259 

again,  he  made  his  way  to  the  haven  where  he  would  Ijc, 
to  the  side  of  a  dead  woman. 

And  the  birds,  startled  from  their  roosting-places  by 
the  stumbling,  falling  figure,  waited,  fluttering  over  the 
topmost  branches  for  it  to  pass,  or  paused  among  them 
to  fill  up  the  time  with  a  last  twittering  song  of  good- 
night to  the  day;  for  the  sun  still  lingered  in  the  heat- 
haze  on  the  horizon  as  if  loath  to  take  its  glow  from  that 
corona  of  red  dust  above  the  northern  wall  of  D.elhi,  mute 
sign  of  the  only  protest  made  as  yet  by  the  master  against 
mutiny. 

And  now  he  had  left  the  city  to  its  own  devices.  The 
rebels  were  free  to  do  as  they  liked.  The  three  thou- 
sand disciplined  soldiers,  more  or  less,  might  have 
marched  out,  had  they  chose,  and  annihilated  the  hand- 
ful of  loyal  men  about  the  Flagstafif  Tower.  But  it  was 
sunset — sunset  in  Rumzan.  And  the  eyes  of  thousands, 
deprived  even  of  a  drop  of  water  since  dawn,  were  watch- 
ing the  red  globe  sink  in  the  West,  hungrily,  thirstily; 
their  ears  were  attuned  but  to  one  sound — the  firework 
signal  from  the  big  moscjue  that  the  day's  fast  was  over. 
The  very  children  on  the  roofs  were  watching,  listening, 
so  as  to  send  the  joyful  news  that  day  was  done,  in  shrill 
voices  to  their  elders  below,  waiting  with  their  water- 
pots  ready  in  their  hands. 

Then,  in  good  truth,  there  was  no  set  purpose  from 
one  end  of  the  city  to  another.  From  the  Palace  to  the 
meanest  brothel  which  had  belched  forth  its  vilest  to  swell 
the  tide  of  sheer  rascality  which  had  ebbed  and  flowed  all 
day,  the  one  thought  was  still,  "  \Miat  does  it  mean? 
How  long  will  it  last?     Where  is  the  master?  " 

So  men  ate  and  drank  their  fill  first,  then  looked  at 
each  other  almost  suspiciously,  and  drifted  away  to  do 
what  pleased  them  best.  Some  to  the  Palace  to  swell 
the  turmoil  of  bellicose  loyalty  to  the  King — loyalty 
which  sounded  unreal,  almost  ridiculous,  even  as  it  was 
spoken.  Others  to  plunder  while  they  could.  The 
bungalows  had  long  since  been  rifled,  the  very  church 
bells  thrown  down  and  broken;  for  the  time  had  been 
ample  even  for  wanton  destruction.  But  the  city 
remained.     And    while    shops    were    being    looted    in- 


26o  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

side,  the  dispossessed  Goojurs  were  busy  over  Met- 
calfe House,  tearing  up  the  very  books  in  their 
revenge.  The  Flagstaff  Tower  lay  not  a  mile  away, 
almost  helpless  against  attack.  But  there  was  no 
stomach  for  cold  steel  in  Delhi  on  the  nth  of  May, 
1857.  No  stomach  for  anything  except  safe  murder,  safe 
pillaging.  Least  of  all  was  it  to  be  found  in  the  Palace, 
where  men  had  given  the  rein  to  everything  they  pos- 
sessed— to  their  emotions,  their  horses,  their  passions, 
their  aspTrations.  Stabling  some  in  the  King's  gardens, 
some  in  dream-palaces,  some  in  pigstyes  of  sheer  bru- 
tality. Weeping  maudlin  tears  over  heaven-sent  suc- 
cess, and  boasting  of  their  own  prowess  in  the  same 
breath;  squabbling  insanely  over  the  partition  of  com- 
ing honors  and  emoluments. 

Abool-Bukr,  drunk  as  a  lord,  lurched  about  asserting 
his  intention  of  being  Inspector-General  of  the  King's 
cavalry,  and  not  leaving  man,  woman,  or  child  of  the  hell- 
doomed  alive  in  India.  For  he  had  been  right  when  he 
had  warned  Newasi  to  leave  him  to  his  own  life,  his 
own  death;  when  he  had  shrunk  from  the  inherited  blood- 
stains on  his  hands,  the  inherited  tinder  in  his  breast.  It 
had  caught  fire  with  the  first  spark,  and  there  was  fresh 
blood  on  his  hands:  the  blood  of  a  Eurasian  boy  who 
had  tried  to  defend  his  sister  from  drunken  kisses. 
Someone  in  the  melee  had  killed  the  girl  and  finished  the 
boy:  the  Prince  himself  being  saved  from  greater  crime 
by  tumbling  into  the  gutter  and  setting  his  nose  a-bleed- 
ing,  a  catastrophe  which  had  sent  him  back  to  the  Palace 
partially  sobered. 

But  Princess  Farkhoonda  Zamani,  safe  housed  in 
the  rooms  kept  for  honored  visitors,  knew  nothing  of 
this,  knew  little  even  of  the  disturbances ;  for  she  had  been 
a  close  prisoner  since  noon — a  prisoner  with  servants  who 
would  answer  no  questions,  with  trays  of  jewels  and 
dresses  as  if  she  had  been  a  bride.  She  sat  in  a  flutter, 
trying  to  piece  out  the  reason  for  this  kidnaping.  Was 
she  to  be  married  by  force  to  some  royal  nominee?  But 
why  to-day?  Why  in  all  this  turmoil,  unless  she  was 
required  as  a  bribe.  The  arch-plotter  was  capable  of 
that.     But  who?     One  thing  was  certain,  Abool-Bukr 


SUNSET.  261 

could  know  nothing  of  this — he  would  not  dare — and 
suddenly  the  hot  blood  tingled  through  every  vein  as  she 
lay  all  unconsciously  enjoying  the  return  to  the  easeful 
idleness  and  luxury  she  had  renounced.  But  if  he  did 
dare?  If  it  was  not  mere  anger  which  brought  bewilder- 
ment to  heart  and  brain,  as  she  hid  her  face  from  the  dim 
light  which  filtered  in  through  the  lattice — the  dim, 
scented,  voluptuous  light  from  which  she  had  fled  once  to 
purer  air? 

And  not  a  hundred  yards  away  from  where  she  was 
trying  to  steady  her  bounding  pulse,  Abool-Bukr  him- 
self was  bawling  away  at  his  favorite  love-song  to  a  cir- 
cle of  intimates,  all  of  whom  he  had  already  provided 
with  places  on  the  civil  list.  His  head  was  full  of  prom- 
ises, his  skin  as  full  of  wine  as  it  could  be,  and  he  not  be 
a  mere  wastrel  unable  to  enjoy  life.  For  Abool-Bukr 
gave  care  to  this;  since  to  be  dead  drunk  was  sheer  loss 
of  time. 

"  Ah  mistress  rare,  divine. 
Thy  lover  like  a  vine 
With  tendril  arms  entwine." 

Here  his  eiYort  to  combine  gesture  wath  song  nearly 
caused  him  to  fall  of¥  the  steps,  and  roused  a  roar  of 
laughter  from  some  sepoys  bivouacking  under  the  trees 
hard  by.  But  Mirza  Aloghul,  passing  hastily  to  an  audi- 
ence with  the  King,  frowned.  To-day,  when  none  knew 
what  might  come,  the  Queen  might  have  her  way  so  far ; 
but  this  idle  drunkard  must  be  got  rid  of  soon.  He 
would  offend  the  pious  to  begin  with,  and  then  he  could 
not  be  trusted.  Who  could  trust  a  man  who  had  been 
known  to  lure  back  his  hawk  because  a  bird's  gay  feath- 
ers shone  in  the  sunshine? 

But  Ahsan-Oolah.  dismissed  from  feeling  the  royal 
pulse  once  more,  by  the  Alirza's  audience,  paused  as  he 
passed  to  recommend  a  cooling  draught  if  the  Inspector- 
General  of  Cavalry  wanted  to  keep  his  head  clear.  It 
was  the  physician's  panacea  for  excitement  of  all  kinds. 
But  an  exhibition  of  steel  would  have  done  better  on  the 
nth  of  May. 

There  was  no  one.  however,  to  administer  it  to  Delhi. 


262  OA^    THE   FACE   OF    77IE    WATERS. 

and  even  the  refugees  in  the  Flagstaff  Tower  were  be- 
ginning to  give  up  hope  of  its  arriving  from  Meerut. 
Those  in  the  storehouse  at  Duryagunj  still  clung  to  the 
belief  that  succor  must  come  somehow ;  but  Kate  Erlton, 
behind  the  wood-pile,  knew  that  her  hope  lay  only  in 
herself. 

.For  how  could  Jim  Douglas,  as  he  more  than  once 
passed  through  the  now  open  and  almost  deserted  Cash- 
mere gate,  in  the  hope,  or  rather  the  fear,  of  finding  some 
trace  of  her,  know  that  she  was  hidden  within  a  few  yards 
of  him?  or,  how  could  she  distinguish  the  sound  of 
his  horse's  hoofs  from  the  hundreds  which  passed? 

She  must  have  escaped  with  the  others,  he  concluded, 
as  he  galloped  toward  the  cantonments  to  see  if  she  were 
there.  But  she  was  not.  He  had  failed  again,  he  told 
himself;  failed  through  no  fault  of  his  own;  for  who  could 
have  foretold  that  madness  of  retreat  from  the  gate? 

So  now,  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  in  Delhi  save 
gather  what  information  he  could,  give  decent  burial — 
if  he  could — to  Alice  Gissing's  body,  and,  if  no  troops 
arrived  before  dawn,  leave  the  city. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DUSK. 

"  1  ENTREAT  you  to  Icavc,  sir.  Believe  me,  there  is 
nothing  else  to  be  done  now.  It  will  be  dark  in  half  an 
liour.  nnd  we  shall  need  every  minute  of  the  night  to 
reach  Kurnal." 

It.  was  said  openly  now  by  many  voices.  It  had  been 
hinted  first  when,  the  corona  of  red  dust  having  just 
sprung  to  hide  the  swelling  white  dome  of  the  distant 
mosque,  a  dismal  procession  had  come  slowly  up  the 
steep  road  to  the  tower  with  a  ghastly  addition  to  the 
little  knot  of  white  faces  there — slowly,  slowly,  the  drivers 
of  the  oxen  whacking  and  jibing  at  them  as  if  the  cart 
held  logs  or  refuse,  as  if  the  driving  of  it  were  quite  com- 
monplace.    Yet  in  a  way  the  six  bodies  of  English  gen- 


DUSK.  263 

tlcmen  it  held  were  welcome  additions;  since  it  was 
something  to  see  a  dear  face  even  when  it  is  dead.  But 
they  were  fateful  additions,  making  the  disloyal  38th  regi- 
ment, posted  furthest  from  the  Tower — partly  com- 
manded by  it  and  the  guns,  in  case  of  accident — shift 
restlessly.  If  others  had  done  such  work,  ought  not 
they  to  be  up  and  doing?  And  now  another  procession 
came  filing  up  from  the  city — the  two  guns  returning 
from  the  Cashmere  gate.  They  came  on  sullenly,  slowly, 
yet  still  they  came  on ;  another  few  minutes  and  the  refu- 
gees would  have  been  the  stronger,  the  chances  of 
mutiny  weaker.  The  38th  saw  this.  Their  advanced 
picket  rushed  out,  drove  ofT  the  gunners  and  the  offi- 
cers, and,  fixing  bayonets,  forced  the  drivers  to  wheel 
and  set  ofif  down  the  road  again  at  a  trot.  And  down  the 
road,  commanded  by  other  guns,  they  went  unchecked; 
for  the  refugees  did  not  dare  to  give  the  order  to  fire,  lest 
it  should  be  disobeyed.  The  effect,  we  read,  would 
probably  have  been  "  that  the  guns  would  have  been 
swung  round  and  fired  on  the  orderers;  and  so  not  an 
European  would  have  escaped  to  tell  the  tale;  this  catas- 
trophe, however,  was  mercifully  averted  and  the  crisis 
passed  over."  It  reads  strangely,  but  once  more,  there 
were  women  and  children  to  think  of.  And  few  men  are 
strong  enough  to  say,  much  less  set  it  down  in  black  and 
white  as  John  Nicholson  did,  that  the  protection  "  of 
women  and  children  in  some  crises, is  such  a  very  minor 
consideration  that  it  ceases  to  be  a  consideration  at  all." 
Still,  it  began  to  be  patent  to  all  that  there  was  little 
good  in  remaining  in  a  place  where  they  did  not  dare 
to  defend  themselves.  There  were  carriages  and  horses 
ready;  the  road  to  Karnal  was  still  fairly  safe.  Would 
it  not  be  better  to  retreat?  But  the  Brigadier  held  out. 
He  had.  in  deference  partly  to  others,  wholly  for  the  sake 
of  his  helpless  charges,  weakened  the  city  post.  Why 
should  he  have  done  that  if  he  meant  to  abandon  his 
own?  Then  he  was  an  old  sepoy  officer  who  had  ser^^ed 
boy  and  man  in  one  regiment,  rising  to  its  command  at 
last,  and  he  was  loath  to  believe  that  the  38th  regiment, 
which  had  been  specially  commended  to  him  by  his  own, 
would  turn  against  him,  if  only  he  were  free  to  handle  it. 


264  ojv  the  face  of  the  waters. 

And  this  hope  gained  color  from  the  fact,  that  to  him 
personally  and  to  his  direct  orders,  the  regiment  was  still 
cheerfully  obedient. 

So  the  waiting  went  on,  and  there  were  no  signs  of  the 
74th  returning.  What  had  happened?  Fresh  disaster? 
The  voices  urging  retreat  grew  louder. 

"  Have  it  your  own  way,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Briga- 
dier at  last.  "  The  women  and  children  had  better  go,  at 
any  rate,  and  they  will  need  protection;  so  let  all  retire 
who  will,  and  in  what  way  seems  best  to  them.  I  stay 
here." 

So  on  foot,  on  horseback,  in  carriages,  the  exodus  be- 
gan forthwith;  hastening  more  rapidly  when  the  first 
man  to  jump  from  the  embrasure  at  the  Cashmere  gate 
arrived  with  that  tale  of  hopeless  calamity. 

But  still  the  Brigadier  refused  to  join  the  rout.  He 
had  been  hanging  on  the  skirts  of  Hope  all  day,  trying, 
wisely  or  unwisely,  to  shield  women  and  children  behind 
that  frail  shelter.  So  he  had  been  tied  hand  and  foot. 
Now  he  would  be  free.  True!  the  mystery  of  oncoming 
dusk  made  that  red  city  in  the  distance  loom  larger,  but 
a  handful  of  desperate  men  unhampered,  with  plenty  of 
ammunition,  might  hold  such  a  post  as  the  Flagstafif 
Tower  till  help  arrived.  He  meant  to  try  it,  at  any  rate. 
Then  nearly  half  of  the  74th  had  got  away  safely — they 
were  long  in  turning  up  certainly — but  when  they  came 
they  would  form  a  nucleus.  The  54th  were  not  all  bad,  or 
they  would  not  have  saved  their  Major.  Even  the  38th, 
if  they  could  once  be  got  away  from  the  sight  of  weak- 
ness, from  that  ghastly  cart  with  its  mute  witness  to 
successful  murder,  might  respond  to  a  familiar  common- 
place order.  They  were  creatures  of  habit,  with  drill 
born  in  the  blood,  bred  in  the  bone. 

"  I  stay  here,"  he  said  shortly.  Said  it  again,  even 
when  neither  the  escaped  officers  nor  men  turned  up. 
Said  it  again,  when  the  guns  rolled  ofif  toward  Meerut, 
leaving  him  face  to  face  with  a  sprinkling  of  the  74tli  and 
54th,  and  the  mass  of  the  38th,  sullen,  but  still  obedient. 

The  sun,  now  some  time  set,  had  left  a  flaming  pen- 
nant in  the  sky,  barring  it  low  down  on  the  horizon  with 
a  blood-red  glow  marking  the  top  of  the  dust-haze,  and 


DUSK.  265 

the  quick  chill  of  color  which  in  India  comes  with  the  lack 
of  sunlight,  even  while  its  heat  lingers  to  the  touch,  had 
fallen  upon  all  things — upon  the  red  Ridge,  upon  the 
distant  line  of  trees  marking  the  canal,  upon  the  level 
plain  between  them  where  all  the  familiar  landmarks  of 
cantonment  life  still  showed  clearly,  despite  the  darken- 
ing sky.  Guard-rooms,  lines,  bells-of-arms,  wide  parade- 
grounds — all  the  familiar  surroundings  of  a  sepoy's  life, 
and  behind  them  that  red  flare  of  a  day  that  was  done. 

"  There  is  no  use,  sir,  in  stopping  longer,"  said  the 
Brigade-major,  almost  compassionately,  to  the  figure 
which  sat  its  horse  steadfastly,  but  with  a  despondent 
droop  of  the  shoulders. 

"  No  possible  use,  sir,"  echoed  the  Staff  Doctor  kindly. 
The  three  were  facing  westward,  for  that  vain  hope  of 
help  from  the  east  had  been  given  up  at  last;  and  behind 
them,  barely  audible,  was  the  faint  hum  of  the  distant 
city.  A  shaft  of  cormorants  fiying  j  heel-ward  with 
barbed  arrow  head,  trailed  across  the  purpling  sky;  be- 
low them  the  red  pennant  was  fading  steadily.  The  day 
was  done.  But  to  one  pair  of  eyes  there  seemed  still 
a  hope,  still  a  last  appeal  to  something  beyond  east  or 
west. 

"  Bugler!  sound  the  assembly!  " 

The  Brigadier's  voice  rang  sharp  over  the  plain,  and 
was  followed,  quick  as  an  echo,  quick  from  that  habit  of 
obedience  on  which  so  much  depended,  by  the  cheerful 
notes. 

"  Come — to  the  co-lors!  Come  quick,  come  all — 
come  quick,  come  all — come  quick!  Quick!  Come  to 
the  colors!  " 

Last  appeal  to  honor  and  good  faith,  to  memory  and 
confidence.  But  they  had  passed  with  the  day.  Yet  not 
quite,  for  as  the  rocks  and  stones,  the  distant  lines,  the 
familiar  landmarks  gave  back  the  call,  a  solitary  figure, 
trim  and  smart  in  the  uniform  of  the  loyal  74th,  fell  in 
and  saluted. 

In  all  that  wide  plain  one  man  true  to  his  salt,  heroic 
utterly,  standing  alone  in  the  dusk.  A  nameless  figure, 
like  rnany  another  hero.  Yet  better  so,  when  we  remem- 
ber that  but  a  few  hours  before  his  regiment  had  vohin- 


266  ON    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

teered  to  a  man  against  their  comrades  and  their  country! 
So  sepoy  ,  of  company  ,  can  stand  there,  out- 
lined against  the  dying  day  upon  the  parade-ground  at 
Delhi,  as  a  type  of  others  who  might  have  stood  there 
also,  but  for  the  lack  of  that  cloud  of  dust  upon  the 
Meerut  road. 

Brigadier  Graves  wheeled  his  horse  slowly  northward; 
but  at  the  sight  the  sepoys  of  the  38th,  still  friendly  to 
him  personally,  crowded  round  him  urging  speed.  It 
was  no  place  for  him,  they  said.  No  place  for  the 
master. 

Palpably  not.  It  was  time,  indeed,  for  the  thud  of 
retreating  hoofs  to  end  the  incident,  so  far  as  the  mas- 
ter was  concerned ;  the  actual  finale  of  the  tragic  mistake 
being  a  disciplined  tramp,  as  the  sepoy  who  had  fallen  in 
at  the  last  Assembly  fell  out  again,  at  his  own  word  of 
command,  and  followed  the  master  doggedly.  He  was 
killed  fighting  for  us  soon  afterward. 

"  God  be  praised!  "  said  the  38th,  as  with  curious  de- 
liberation they  took  possession  of  the  cantonments. 
"That  is  over!  He  has  gone  in  safety,  and  we  have 
kept  the  promise  given  to  our  brothers  of  the  56th  not 
to  harm  him."  So,  joined  by  their  comrades  from  the 
city,  they  set  guards  and  gave  out  rations,  with  double 
and  treble  doses  of  rum.  Played  the  master,  in  fact, 
perfectly;  until,  in  the  darkness,  a  rumble  arose  upon  the 
road,  and  one-half  of  the  actors  fled  cityward  inconti- 
nently and  the  other  half  went  to  bed  in  their  huts  like 
good  boys.  But  it  was  not  the  troops  from  Meerut  at 
last.  It  was  only  their  old  friends  the  guns,  once  more 
brought  back  from  the  fugitives  by  comrades  who  had 
finally  decided  to  stand  by  the  winning  side. 

So  the  question  has  once  more  to  be  asked,  "  What 
would  have  happened,  if,  even  at  that  eleventh  hour,  there 
really  had  been  a  cloud  of  dust  on  the  Meerut  road? 

As  it  was,  confidence  and  peace  were  restored.  In 
the  city  they  had  never  been  disturbed.  It  seemed 
weary,  bewildered  by  the  topsy-turvydom  of  the  day, 
desirous  chiefly  of  sleep  and  dreams.  So  that  Kate  Erl- 
ton,  peering  out  through  a  chink  in  the  wood-store,  felt 
that  if  she  were  ever  to  escape  from  the  slow  starvation 


DUSK.  267 

which  stared  her  in  the  face,  she  could  choose  no  better 
time  than  this,  when  traffic  had  ceased,  and  the  moon  had 
not  yet  risen.  She  had  settled  that  her  best  chance  lay 
in  creeping  along  the  wall  at  first,  then,  taking  advantage 
of  the  gardens,  cutting  across  to  that  same  sally-port 
through  which  the  heroes  of  the  magazine  had  told  her 
they  had  made  their  escape.  She  did  not  know  the  exact 
situation,  but  she  could  surely  find  it.  Besides,  the  ruins 
would  most  likely  be  deserted,  and  the  other  gates  of  the 
city,  even  if  they  were  not  closed  for  the  night,  as  the 
gate  here  was,  would  be  guarded.  Once  out  of  the  city, 
she  meant  to  make  for  the  Flagstaff  Tower;  for,  of 
course,  she  knew  nothing  of  its  desertion. 

So  she  set  the  door  ajar  softly,  and  crept  out.  And 
as  she  did  so,  the  whiteness  of  her  own  dress,  even  in 
the  dense  blackness,  startled  her,  and  roused  the  trivial 
wish  that  she  had  put  on  her  navy-blue  cotton  instead, 
as  she  had  meant  to  do  that  day.  Strange!  how  a  mere 
chance — the  word  was  like  a  spur  always,  and  she  crept 
along  the  wall,  hoping  that  the  smoking,  flaring  fire  of 
refuse  in  the  opposite  corner,  round  which  the  guard 
were  sitting,  so  as  to  be  free  of  mosquitoes,  might  dazzle 
their  eyes.  It  was  her  only  chance,  however,  so  she  must 
risk  it.  Then  suddenly,  under  her  foot,  she  felt  some- 
thing long,  curved,  snakelike.  It  was  all  she  could  do 
not  to  scream;  but  she  set  her  teeth,  and  trod  down 
hard  with  all  her  strength,  her  heart  beating  wildly  in 
the  awful  suspense.  But  nothing  struck  her,  there  was 
no  movement.  Had  she  killed  it?  Her  hand  went  down 
in  the  dark  with  a  terror  in  it  lest  her  touch  should  light 
on  the  head — perhaps  within  reach  of  the  fangs.  But 
she  forced  herself  to  the  touch,  telling  herself  she  was  a 
coward,  a  fool. 

Thank  Heaven!  no  snake  after  all,  only  a  rope.  A 
rope  that  must  have  been  used  for  tethering  a  horse,  for 
here  under  her  foot  was  straw,  rustling  horribly.  No! 
not  now — that  was  something  soft.  A  blanket ;  a  horse's 
double  blanket,  dark  as  the  darkness  itself.  Here  was  a 
chance,  indeed.  She  caught  it  up  and  paused  deliber- 
ately in  the  darkest  corner  of  the  square,  to  slip  off  shoes 
and  stockings,  petticoats  and  bodice;  so,  in  the  scantiest 


268  ON   THE   FACE   OF   THE    1VA7EKS. 

of  costumes,  winding  the  long  blanket  round  her,  as  a 
skirt  and  veil  in  ayah's  fashion.  Her  face  could  be  hid- 
den by  a  modest  down-drop  over  it,  her  wdiite  hands 
hidden  away  by  the  modest  drawing  of  a  fold  across  her 
mouth.  Her  feet,  then,  were  the  only  danger,  and  the 
dust  would  darken  them.  She  must  risk  that  anyhow. 
So,  boldly,  she  slipped  out  of  the  corner,  and  made  for 
the  gate,  remembering  to  her  comfort  that  it  was  not 
England  where  a  lonely  woman  might  be  challenged  all 
the  more  for  her  loneliness.  In  this  heathen  land,  that 
down-dropped  veil  hedged  even  a  poor  grass-cutter's 
wife  about  with  respect.  What  is  more,  even  if  she 
were  challenged,  her  proper  course  would  be  to  be  silent 
and  hurry  on.  But  no  one  challenged  her,  and  she 
passed  on  into  the  denser  shadows  of  the  church  garden 
to  regain  her  breath ;  for  it  had  gone  somehow.  Why, 
she  knew  not;  she  had  not  felt  frightened.  Then  the 
question  came,  what  next?  Get  to  the  magazine,  some- 
how ;  but  the  strain  of  looking  forward  seemed  far  worse 
than  the  actual  doing,  so  she  went  on  without  settling 
anything,  save  that  she  would  avoid  roads,  and  give  the 
still  smoking  roofless  bungalows  as  wide  a  birth  as  pos- 
sible, lest,  in  the  dark,  she  should  come  on  some  deid 
thing — a  friend  perhaps.  And  with  the  thought  came 
that  of  Alice  Gissing.  The  house  lay  right  on  her  path 
to  the  magazine.  Surely  she  must  be  near  it  now.  Was 
that  the  long  sweep  of  its  roof  against  the  sky?  If  she 
could  see  so  much,  the  moon  must  be  rising,  and  she 
could  have  no  time  to  lose.  As  she  crept  along  through 
the  garden,  she  wondered  why  the  bungalow  had  not 
been  burned  like  the  others.  Perhaps  the  ayah's  friends 
had  saved  it,  or,  perhaps,  there  had  not  been  much  to 

attract  them  in  the  little  hired  house.     Or,  perhaps 

Hark!  She  crouched  back,  from  voices  close  beside 
her,  and  doubled  a  bit;  but  they  seemed  to  follow  her. 
And  straight  ahead  the  trees  ended,  and  she  must  brave 
the  open  space  by  the  house  itself;  unless,  indeed,  she 
slipped  by  the  row  of  servant's  houses  to  the  veranda, 
and  so — through  the  rooms — gain  the  further  side.  Or 
she  might  hide  in  the  house  till  thaee  voices  passed. 
There  they  were  again!     She  made  a  breathless  dash  for 


DUSK.  269 

the  shadow,  ran  on  till  she  found  the  veranda,  and  decid- 
ing to  hide  for  a  time,  passed  in  at  the  first  door — the 
door  of  the  room  where  she  had  left  Alice  Gissing  lying 
dead  a  few  hours  before.  But  it  was  too  dark,  as  yet, 
to  see  if  she  lay  there  still,  too  dark  to  see  even  if  the 
house  had  been  plundered.  It  must  have  been,  how- 
ever, for  the  very  floor-cloths  were  gone;  the  concrete 
struck  cold  to  her  feet.  And  a  sudden  terror  at  the  dark- 
ness, the  emptiness,  coming  over  her,  she  passed  on 
rapidly  to  the  faintly  glimmering  square  of  the  further 
door,  seen  through  the  intervening  rooms.  There  were 
three  of  them;  bedroom,  drawing  room,  dining  room,  set 
in  a  row  in  Indian  fashion,  all  leading  into  each  other,  all 
opening  on  to  the  veranda;  the  two  end  ones  opening  also 
into  the  side  veranda.  She  could  get  out  again,  therefore, 
by  this  further  door.  But  it  was  bolted.  She  undid  the 
bolts,  only  to  find  it  hasped  on  the  outside.  A  feeling  of 
being  trapped  seized  upon  her.  She  ran  to  the  other 
door.  Hasped  also.  The  drawing-room  door?  Firmer 
even  than  the  others.  But  what  a  fool  she  was  to  feel 
so  frightened,  when  she  could  always  go  out  as  she  had 
come  in  when  the  voices  had  passed.  She  stole  back 
softly,  knowing  they  must  be  just  outside,  and  almost 
fancying,  in  her  alarm,  that  she  heard  a  step  in  the 
veranda.  But  there  was  the  glimmering  square  of 
escape,  open.     No!  shut  too!  shut  from  the  outside. 

Had  they  seen  her  and  shut  'the  door?  And  there, 
indeed,  were  footsteps!  Loud  footsteps  and  voices  com- 
ing up  the  long  flight  of  steps  which  led  to  the  veranda 
from  the  road.  Coming  straight,  and  she  locked  in, 
helpless. 

She  threw  up  her  hands  involuntarily  at  a  bright  flash 
in  the  veranda.  Was  it  lightning?  No!  a  pistol  shot,  a 
quick  curse,  a  fall.  A  yell  of  rage,  a  rush  of  those  feet 
upon  the  steps,  and  then  another  flash,  another,  and 
another!  More  curses  and  a  confused  clashing!  She 
stood  as  if  turned  to  stone,  listening.  Hark!  down  the 
steps,  surely,  this  time,  another  rush,  a  cry,  a  scuffle,  a 
fall.  Then,  loud  and  unmistakable,  a  laugh!  Then 
silence. 

Merciful  Havens!  what  was  it?*     What  had  happened? 


270  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

She  shook  at  the  door  gently,  but  still  there  was  silence. 
Then,  gripping  the  woodwork,  she  tried  to  peer  out.  But 
she  could  only  see  the  bit  of  veranda  in  front  of  her 
which,  being  latticed  in  and  hung  with  creepers,  was 
very  dark.  The  rest  was  invisible  from  within.  She 
leaned  her  ear  on  the  glass  and  listened.  Was  that  a 
faint  breathing?  "Who's  there?"  she  cried  softly;  but 
there  was  no  answer.  She  sank  down  on  the  floor  in 
sheer  bewilderment  and  tried  to  think  what  to  do,  and 
after  a  time,  a  faint  glimmer  of  the  rising  moon  aiding 
her,  she  went  round  to  every  door  and  tried  it  again. 
All  locked  inside  and  out.  And  now  she  could  see  that 
the  house  had  been  pillaged  to  the  uttermost.  There 
was  literally  nothing  left  in  it.  Nothing  to  aid  her 
fingers  if  she  tried  to  open  the  doors.  By  breaking  the 
upper  panes  of  glass,  of  course,  she  could  undo  the  top 
bolt,  but  how  was  she  to  reach  the  bottom  ones  behind 
the  lower  panels?  And  why?  w^hy  had  they  been 
locked?  Who  had  locked  the  one  by  which  she  had 
come  in?  What  was  there  that  needed  protection  in 
that  empty  house.  Was  there  by  chance  someone  else? 
Then,  suddenly,  the  remembrance  of  what  she  had  left 
lying  in  the  end  room  hours  before  came  back  to  her. 
She  had  forgotten  it  utterly  in  her  alarm  and  she  crept 
back  to  see  if  Alice  Gissing  still  kept  her  company.  The 
bed  was  gone,  but  by  the  steadily  growing  glimmer  of 
the  moon  she  could  see  something  lying  on  the  floor  in 
the  very  center  of  the  room.  Something  strangely 
orderly,  with  a  look  of  care  and  tidiness  about  it;  but  not 
white — and  her  dress  had  been  white.  Kate  knelt  down 
beside  it  and  touched  the  still  figure  gently.  What  had 
it  been  covered  with?  Some  sort  of  network,  fine — 
silken — crimson.  An  officer's  sash  surely!  And  now 
her  eyes  becoming  accustomed  to  what  lay  before  them, 
and  the  light  growing,  she  saw  that  the  curly  head  rested 
on  an  ofBcer's  scarlet  coat.  The  gold  epaulettes  were 
arranged  neatly  on  either  side  the  delicate  ears  so  as  not 
to  touch  them.  Who  had  done  this?  Then  that  step 
she  had  thought  she  heard  in  the  veranda  must  have  been 
a  real  one.  Someone  must  have  been  watching  the  dead 
woman. 


DUSK.  271 

She  was  at  the  door  in  an  instant  rapping  at  a  pane, 
"Herbert!  Herbert!  are  you  there?  Herbert!  Her- 
bert!" He  might  have  done  this  thing.  He  might 
have  come  over  from  Meerut,  for  he  had  loved  the  dead 
woman,  he  had  loved  her  dearly. 

But  there  was  no  answer.  Then  wrapping  the  blanket 
round  her  hand  she  dashed  it  through  the  pane,  and 
removing  the  glass,  managed  to  crane  out  a  little.  She 
could  see  better  so.  Was  that  someone,  or  only  a  heap 
of  clothes  in  the  shadow  of  the  corner  by  the  inner  wall? 
By  this  time  the  moonlight  was  shining  white  on  the 
orange-trees  on  the  further  side  of  the  road.  She  could 
see  beyond  them  to  the  garden,  but  nothing  of  the  road 
itself,  nothing  of  the  steep  flight  of  steps  leading  down 
to  it;  a  balustrade  set  with  pots  filling  up  all  but  the 
center  arch  prevented  that. 

"Herbert!"  she  cried  again  louder,  "is  that  you?" 
But  there  was  not  a  sound. 

God  in  heaven!  who  lay  there?  dying  or  dead?  help- 
lessness broke  down  her  self-control  at  last,  and  she  crept 
back  into  the  room,  back  to  the  old  companionship,  cry- 
ing miserably.  Ah !  she  was  so  tired,  so  weary  of  it  all. 
So  glad  to  rest!  A  sense  of  real  physical  relief  came  to 
her  body  as,  for  the  first  time  for  long,  long  hours,  she 
let  her  muscles  slacken,  and  to  her  mind  as  she  let  herself 
cry  on,  like  a  child,  forgetting  the  cause  of  grief  in  the 
grief,  itself.  Forgetting  even  that  after  a  time  in  sheer 
rest ;  so  that  the  moon,  when  it  had  climbed  high  enough 
to  peep  in  through  the  closed  doors,  found  her  asleep, 
her  arms  spread  out  over  the  crimson  network,  her  head 
resting  on  what  lay  beneath  it.  But  she  slept  dream- 
fully and  once  her  voice  rose  in  the  quick  anxious  tones 
of  those  who  talk  in  their  sleep. 

"Freddy!  Freddy!"  she  called.  "Save  Freddy, 
someone!     Never  mind,  ayah!     He  is  only  a  boy,  and 

the  other,  the  other  may "     Then  her  words  merged 

into  each  other  uncertainly,  after  the  manner  of  dreamers, 
and  she  slept  sounder. 

Soundest  of  all,  however,  in  the  cool  before  the  dawn; 
so  that  she  did  not  wake  with  a  stealthy  foot  in  the  side 
veranda,  a  stealthy  hand  on  the  hasp  outside;  did  not 


272  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

wake  even  when  Jim  Douglas  stood  beside  her,  looking 
down  vexedly  on  the  blanket-shrouded  figure  pillowed 
on  the  body  he  came  to  seek.  For  he  had  been  delayed 
by  a  thousand  difficulties,  and  though  the  shallow  grave 
was  ready  dug  in  the  g-arden,  the  presence  of  this 
native — even  though  a  woman,  apparently — must  make 
his  task  longer.  Was  it  a  woman?  One  hand  on  his 
revolver,  he  laid  the  other  on  the  sleeper's  shoulder.  His 
touch  brought  Kate  to  her  feet  blindly,  without  a  cry,  to 
meet  Fate. 

"My  God!  Mrs.  Erlton!"  he  cried,  and  she  recog- 
nized his  voice  at  once.  Fate  indeed!  His  chance  and 
hers.     His  chance  and  hers! 

She  stood  half  stupefied  by  her  dreams,  her  waking; 
but  he,  after  his  nature,  was  ready  in  a  second  for  action, 
and  broke  in  on  his  own  wondering  questions  im- 
patiently. "  But  we  are  losing  time.  Quick!  you  must 
get  to  some  safer  place  before  dawn.  Twist  that  blanket 
right — let  me,  please.  That  will  do.  Now,  if  you  will 
follow  close,  I  must  get  you  hidden  somewhere  for  to- 
day.    It  is  too  near  dawn  for  anything  else.     Come!  " 

She  put  out  her  hand  vaguely,  as  if  to  stave  his  swift 
decision  away,  and,  looking  in  her  face,  he  recognized 
that  she  must  have  time,  that  he  must  curb  his  own 
energy. 

"  Then  it  was  you  who  fired,"  she  said  in  a  dull  voice. 
"  You  who  shut  me  in  here?  You  who  killed  those 
voices.  Why  didn't  you  answer  when  I  called,  when  I 
thought  it  was  Herbert?  It  was  very  unkind — very 
unkind." 

He  stared  at  her  for  a  second,  and  then  his  hand  went 
out  and  closed  on  hers  firmly.  "Mrs.  Erlton!  I'm 
going  to  save  you  if  I  can.  Come.  I  don't  know  what 
you're  talking  about,  and  there  is  no  time  for  talk. 
Come." 

So,  hand  in  hand,  they  passed  into  the  side  veranda, 
through  which  he  had  entered,  and  so,  since  the  nearest 
way  to  the  city  lay  down  that  flight  of  steps,  to  the  front 
one. 

"  Take  care,"  he  cried,  half-stumbling  himself,  and 
forcing  her   to   avoid   something   that   lay   huddled   up 


DUSK.  273 

against  the  wall.  It  was  a  dead  man.  And  there,  upon 
the  steps  which  showed  white  as  marble  in  the  moon- 
light, were  two  others  in  a  heap.  A  third  lower  down, 
ghastlier  still,  lying  amid  dark  stains  marring  the  white- 
ness, and  with  a  gaping  cut  clearly  visible  on  the 
shoulder. 

But  that  still  further  down!  Jim  Douglas  gave  a 
quick  cry,  dropped  Kate's  hand,  and  was  on  his  knees 
beside  the  tall  young  figure — coatless,  its  white  shirt 
stiff  with  blood,  which  lay  head  downward  on  the  last 
steps  as  if  it  had  pitched  forward  in  some  mad  pursuit. 
As  he  turned  it  over  on  its  back  gently,  the  young  face 
showed  in  the  moonlight  stern,  yet  still  exultant,  and  the 
sword,  still  clenched  in  the  stiff  right  hand,  rattled  on 
the  steps. 

"  Main  waring!  I  don't  understand,"  he  said,  looking 
up  bewildered  into  Kate's  face.  The  puzzle  had  gone 
from  it ;  she  semed  roused  to  life  again. 

"  I  understand  now,"  she  said  softly,  and  as  she  spoke 
she  stooped  and  raised  the  boy's  head  tenderly  in  her 
hands.  "  Don't  let  us  leave  him  here,"  she  went  on 
eagerly,  hastily.  "  Leave  him  there,  beside — beside — 
/fcr." 

Jim  Douglas  made  no  reply.  He  understood  also 
dimly,  and  he  only  signed  to  her  to  take  the  feet  instead. 
So  together  they  managed  to  place  that  dead  weight 
within  the  threshold  and  close  the'  door. 

Then  Jim  Douglas  held  out  his  hand  again,  but  there 
was  a  new  friendliness  in  its  grip.  '"  Come!  "  he  said, 
and  there  was  a  new  ring  in  his  voice,  "  the  night  is  far 
spent,  the  day  is  at  hand." 

It  was  true.  As  they  stepped  from  the  now  waning 
moonlight  into  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  the  birds,  begin- 
ning to  dream  of  dawn,  shifted  and  twittered  faintly 
among  the  branches.  And  once,  startling  them  both, 
there  was  a  louder  rustling  from  a  taller  tree,  a  flutter  of 
broad  white  wings  to  a  perch  nearer  the  city,  a  half- 
sleepy  cry  of: 

"been!    Deen!    FiitteJiMohainnicd! " 

"  If  I  had  time,"  muttered  Jini  Douglas  fiercely,  "  I 
would  go  and  wring  that  cursed  bird's  neck!     But  for 


2  74  ON    THE  FACE   OF   THE    IVATERS. 

Kate's  tighter  clasp  on  his  hand  seemed  Hke 


an  appeal,  and  he  went  on  in  silence. 

So,  as  they  slipped  from  the  gardens  into  the  silent 
streets,  the  muezzin's  monotonous  chant  began  from  the 
shadowy  minaret  of  the  big  mosque. 

"Prayer  is  more  than  sleep! — than  sleep! — than 
sleep!" 

The  night  was  far  spent ;  the  day  was  indeed  at  hand — 
and  what  would  it  bring  forth?  Jim  Douglas,  with  a 
sinking  at  his  heart,  told  himself  he  could  at  least  be 
thankful  that  one  day  was  done. 


BOOK  IV. 
"  SUCH  STUFF  AS  DREAMS  ARE  MADE  OF." 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE    DEATH    PLEDGE. 

The  outer  court  of  the  Palace  lay  steeped  in  the  sun- 
shine of  noon.  Its  hot  rose-red  walls  and  arcades  seemed 
to  shimmer  in  the  glare,  and  the  dazzle  and  glitter  gave 
a  strange  air  of  unreality,  of  instability  to  all  things.  To 
the  crowds  of  loungers  taking  their  siesta  in  every  arcade 
and  every  scrap  of  shadow,  to  the  horses  stabled  in  rows 
in  the  glare  and  the  blaze,  to  the  eager  groups  of  new 
arrivals  which,  from  time  to  time,  came  in  from  the  outer 
world  by  the  cool,  dark  tunnel  of  the  Lahore  gate  to  stand 
for  a  second,  as  if  blinded  by  the  shimmer  and  glitter, 
before  becoming  a  part  of  that  silent,  drowsy  stir  of  life. 

From  an  arch  close  to  the  inner  'entry  to  the  precincts 
rose  a  monotonous  voice  reading  aloud.  The  reader 
was  evidently  the  author  also,  for  his  frown  of  annoy- 
ance was  unmistakable  at  a  sudden  diversion  caused  by 
the  entry  of  a  dozen  or  more  armed  men,  shouting  at  the 
top  of  their  voices:  "  Padishah,  Padishah,  Padishah!  We 
be  fighters  for  Tlie  Faith.  Padishah!  a  blessing,  a 
blessing!  " 

A  malicious  laugh  came  from  one  of  the  listeners  in 
the  arcade — a  woman  shrouded  in  a  Pathan  veil. 

"  'Tis  as  well  his  Majesty  hath  taken  another  cooling 
draught,"  came  her  voice  shrilly.  "  What  with  writing 
letters  for  help  to  the  Huzoors  to  please  Ahsan-Oolah 
and  Elahi-Buksh,  and  blessing  faith  to  please  the  Queen, 
he  hath  enough  to  do  in  keeping  his  brain  from  getting 


276  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

dizzy  with  whirling  this  way  and  that.  Mayhap  faith 
will  fail  first,  since  it  is  not  satisfied  with  blessings.  They 
are  windy  diet,  and  I  heard  Mahboob  say  an  hour  agone 
that  there  was  too  much  faith  for  the  Treasury.  Lo! 
moonshee-jee,  put  that  fact  down  among  thy  heroics — 
they  need  balance!  " 

"  Sure,  niece  Hafzan,"  reproved  the  old  editor  of  the 
Court  Journal,  "  I  see  naught  that  needs  it.  Syyed  Ab- 
dulla's  periods  fit  the  case  as  peas  fit  a  pod;  they  hang 
together." 

"  As  we  shall  when  the  Huzoors  return,"  assented  the 
voice  from  the  veil. 

"They  will  return  no  more,  woman!"  said  another. 
It  belonged  to  a  man  who  leaned  against  a  pilaster,  look- 
ing dreamily  out  into  the  glare  where,  after  a  brief  strug- 
gle, the  band  of  fighters  for  the  faith  had  pushed  aside 
the  timid  door-keepers  and  forced  their  way  to  the  inner 
garden.  Through  the  open  door  they  showed  pictur- 
esquely, surging  down  the  path,  backed  by  green  foliage 
and  the  white  dome  of  the  Pearl  Mosque  rising  against 
the  blue  sky. 

"  The  Faith!  The  Faith!  We  come  to  fight  for  the 
Faith!" 

Their  cry  echoed  over  the  drowsy,  dreaming  crowds, 
making  men  turn  over  in  their  sleep ;  that  was  all. 

But  the  dreaminess  grew  in  the  face  looking  at  the 
vista  through  the  open  door  till  its  eyes  became  like  those 
Botticelli  gives  to  his  Moses — the  eyes  of  one  who  sees 
a  promised  land — and  the  dreamy  voice  went  on: 

"How  can  they  return;  seeing  that  He  is  Lord  and 
Master?  Changing  the  Day  to  Darkness,  the  Darkness 
into  Day.  Holding  the  unsupported  skies,  proving  His 
existence  by  His  existence,  Omnipotent.  High  in 
Dignity,  the  Avenger  of  His  Faithful  people." 

The  old  editor  waggled  his  head  with  delighted  appro- 
val; the  author  fidgeted  over  an  eloquence  not  his  own; 
but  Hafzan's  high  laugh  rang  cynically: 

"  That  may  be  so,  most  learned  divine;  yet  I,  Hafzan, 
the  harem  scribe,  write  no  orders  nowadays  for  King 
or  Queen  without  the  proviso  of  '  writ  by  a  slave  in  pur- 
suance of  lawful  order  and  under  fear  of  death  '  in  some 


THE  DEATH  PLEDGE.  2']'] 

quiet  corner.  For  I  have  no  fancy,  see  you,  for  hanging, 
even  if  it  be  in  good  company.  But,  go  on  with  thy  lead- 
ing article,  moonshee-jee,  I  will  interrupt  no  more." 

"  Thus  by  a  single  revolution  of  time  the  state  of  afifairs 
is  completely  reversed,*  and  the  great  and  memorable 
event  which  took  place  four  days  ago  must  be  looked 
upon  as  a  practical  warning  to  the  uninformed  and  care- 
less, namely  the  British  officers  and  those  who  never 
dreamed  of  the  decline  and  fall  of  their  government,  but 
who  have  now  convincing  proof  of  what  has  been  writ- 
ten in  the  Indelible  Tablets  by  God.  The  following 
brief  account,  therefore,  of  the  horrible  and  memorable 
events  is  given  here  solely  for  the  sake  of  those  still  in- 
clined to  treat  them  as  a  dream.  On  Monday,  the  i6th 
of  Rumzan,  that  holy  month  in  which  the  Word  of  God 
came  down  to  earth,  and  in  wdiich,  for  all  time,  lies  the 
Great  Night  of  Power,  the  courts  being  open  early  on 
account  of  the  hot  weather,  the  magistrate  discharging 
his  wonted  duties,  suddenly  the  bridge  toll-keeper  ap- 
peared, informing  him  that  a  few  Toork  troopers  had 
first  crossed  the  bridge " 

The  dreamy-faced  divine  turned  in  sharp  reproach. 
"  Not  so,  Syyed-jee.  The  vision  came  first — the  vision 
of  the  blessed  Lord  Ali  seen  by  the  muezzin.  Wouldst 
make  this  time  as  other  times,  and  deny  the  miracles  by 
which  it  is  attested  as  of  God?" 

"  Miracles!  "  echoed  Hafzan.  "J  see  no  miracle  in  an 
old  man  on  a  camel." 

The  divine  frowned.  "  Nor  in  a  strange  white  bird 
with  a  golden  crown,  which  hovered  over  tlie  city  giving 
the  sacred  cry?  Nor  in  the  fulfillment  of  Hussan 
Askuri's  dream?  " 

Hafzan  burst  into  shrill  laughter.  "Hussan  Askuri! 
Lo!  Moulvie  Mohammed  Ismail,  didst  thou  know  the 
arch  dreamer  as  I,  thou  wouldst  not  credit  his  miracles. 
He  dreams  to  the  Queen's  orders  as  a  bear  dances  to  the 
whip.  And  as  thou  knowest,  my  mistress  hath  the  knack 
of  jerking  the  puppet  strings.  She  hath  been  busy  these 
days,  and  even  the  Princess  Farkhoonda " 

"  What  of  the  Princess? "  asked  the  newswriter, 
eagerly,  nibbling  his  pen  in  anticipation. 

*From  the  account  in  the  native  papers. 


278  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

"  Nay,  not  so !  "  retorted  Hafzan,  "  I  give  no  news 
nowadays,  since  I  cannot  set  '  spoken  under  fear  of 
death  '  upon  the  words." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  yet  Hngered,  to  stand  a  second 
beside  the  divine  and  say  in  a  softer  tone,  "  Dreams  are 
not  safe,  even  to  the  pious,  as  thou,  Moulvie-sahib.  A 
bird  is  none  the  less  a  bird  because  it  is  strange  to  Delhi 
and  hath  been  taught  to  speak.  That  it  was  seen  all 
know;  yet  for  all  that,  it  may  be  one  of  Hussan  Askuri's 
tricks." 

"  Let  it  be  so,  woman,"  retorted  Mohammed  Ismail 
almost  fiercely,  "is  there  not  miracle  enough  and  to  spare 
without  it?  Did  not  the  sun  rise  four  days  ago  upon 
infidels  in  power?  Where  are  they  now?  Were  there 
not  two  thousand  of  them  in  Meerut?  Did  they  strike 
a  blow?  Did  they  strike  one  here?  Where  is  their 
strength?     Gone!  I  tell  thee — gone!" 

Hafzan  laid  a  veiled  clutch  on  his  arm  suddenly  and 
her  other  hand,  widening  the  folds  of  her  shapeless  form 
mysteriously,  pointed  into  the  blaze  and  shimmer  of  sun- 
light. "  It  lies  there,  Moulvie-sahib,  it  lies  there,"  she 
said  in  a  passionate  whisper,  "  for  God  is  on  their  side." 

It  was  a  pitiful  little  group  to  which  she  pointed.  A 
woman,  her  mixed  blood  showing  in  her  face,  her 
Christianity  in  her  dress,  being  driven  along  like  a  sheep 
to  the  shambles  across  the  courtyard.  She  clasped  a  year- 
old  baby  to  her  breast  and  a  handsome  little  fellow  of 
three  toddled  at  her  skirts.  She  paused  in  a  scrap  of 
shade  thrown  by  a  tree  which  grew  beside  a  small  cistern 
or  reservoir  near  the  middle  of  the  court,  and  shifted  the 
heavy  child  in  her  arms,  looking  round,  as  she  did  so, 
with  a  sort  of  wild,  fierce  fear,  like  that  of  a  hunted  ani- 
mal. The  cluster  of  sepoys  who  had  made  their  prisoner 
over  to  the  Palace  guard  turned  hastily  from  the  sight; 
but  the  guard  drove  her  on  with  coarse  jibes. 

"  The  rope  dangles  close,  Moulvie-jee,"  came  Hafzan's 
voice  again.  "  Ropes,  said  I?  Gentle  ropes?  Nay! 
only  as  the  wherewithal  to  tie  writhing  limbs  as  they  roast. 
If  thou  hast  a  taste  for  visions,  pious  one,  tell  me  what 
thou  seest  ahead  for  the  murderers  of  such  poor  souls?  " 

"  Murderers,"    echoed    Mohammed     Ismail    swiftly; 


THE  DEATH  PLEDGE.  279 

"  there  is  no  talk  of  murder.  'Tis  against  our  religion. 
Have  I  not  signed  the  edict  against  it?  Have  we  not  pro- 
tested against  the  past  iniquity  of  criminals,  and  ignorant 
beasts,  and  vile  libertines  like  Prince  Abool-Bukr,  who 
take  advantage " 

"He  was  too  drunk  for  much  evil,  learned  one!" 
sneered  Hafzan.  "  Godly  men  do  worse  than  he  in  their 
own  homes,  as  I  know  to  my  cost.  As  for  thine  edict! 
Take  it  to  the  Princess  Farkhoonda.  She  is  a  simple 
soul,  though  she  holds  the  vilest  liver  of  Delhi  in  a 
leash.  But  the  Queen — the  Queen  is  of  different  mettle, 
as  you  edict-signers  will  find.  There  are  nigh  fifty  such 
prisoners  in  the  old  cook-room  now.     Wherefore?  " 

"  For  safety.  There  are  nigh  forty  in  the  city  police 
station  also." 

Hafzan  gathered  her  folds  closer,  "  Truly  thou  art  a 
simple  soul,  pious  divine.  Dost  not  think  there  is  a  dif- 
ference, still,  between  the  Palace  and  the  city?  But 
God  save  all  women,  black  or  white,  say  W  Save  them 
from  men,  and  since  we  be  all  bound  to  hell  together 
by  virtue  of  our  sex,  then  will  it  be  a  better  place  than 
Paradise  by  having  fewer  men  in  it." 

She  flung  her  final  taunts  over  her  shoulder  at  her 
hearers  as  she  went  limping  ofif. 

"  Heed  her  not,  most  pious!  "  said  her  uncle  apologeti- 
cally. "  She  hath  been  mad  against  men  ever  since  hers, 
being  old  and  near  his  end,  took  l;er,  a  child,  and " 

But  Moulvie  Mohammed  Ismail  was  striding  across  the 
courtyard  to  the  long,  low,  half-ruinous  shed  in  which 
the  prisoners  were  kept. 

"  Have  they  proper  food  and  water?  "  he  asked  sharply 
of  the  guard.     "  The  King  gave  orders  for  it." 

"It  comes  but  now!"  replied  the  sergeant  glibly, 
pointing  to  a  file  ot  servants  bearing  dishes  which  were 
crossing  the  courtyard  from  the  royal  kitchens.  The 
Moulvie  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  for  Hafzan's  hints  had 
alarmed  him.  These  same  helpless  prisoners  lay  on  his 
conscience,  since  he  and  his  like  were  mainly  responsi- 
ble for  the  diligent  search  for  Christians  which  had  been 
going  on  during  the  last  few  days;  for  it  was  not  to  be 
tolerated  that  the  faithful  should  risk  salvation  by  con- 


28o  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

cealing  them.  The  proper  course  was  plain,  unmistak- 
able. They  should  be  given  up  to  the  authorities  and 
be  made  into  good  jNIohammedans;  by  persuasion  if 
possible,  if  not,  by  force.  In  truth  the  Moulvie  dreamed 
already  of  ninety  and  odd  willing  converts,  as  a  further 
manifestation  of  divine  favor.  Perhaps  more;  though 
most  of  these  ill-advised  attempts  at  concealment  must 
have  come  to  an  end  by  now. 

They  had  indeed;  those  four  days  of  peace,  of  hourly 
increasing  religious  enthusiasm  for  a  cause  so  evidently 
favored  by  High  Heaven,  had  made  it  well  nigh  impossi- 
ble to  carry  on  a  task  attempted  by  so  many,  when  it 
seemed  likely  to  last  for  a  few  hours  only. 

Even  Jim  Douglas  told  himself  he  must  fail  unless  he 
could  get  help.  He  had  succeeded  so  far,  simply  because 
— by  a  mere  chance — he  had,  not  one  but  several,  places 
of  concealment  ready  to  his  hand  without  the  necessity 
for  taking  anyone  into  his  confidence.  For  he  had  found 
it  convenient  in  his  work  to  have  cities  of  refuge,  as  it 
were,  where  he  could  escape  from  curiosity  or  change 
a  disguise  at  leisure.  The  shilling  or  so  a  month  re- 
([uired  for  the  rent  of  a  room  in  some  tenement  house 
being  more  than  repaid  by  the  sense  of  security  the  pos- 
session gave  him.  It  was  to  one  of  these,  therefore,  that 
he  took  Kate  on  the  dawn  of  the  12th,  leaving  her  locked 
up  in  it  alone;  till  night  enabled  him  to  take  her  on  to 
another;  so  by  constant  change  managing  to  escape  sus- 
picion. But  as  the  days  passed  in  miraculous  peace,  he 
recognized  the  hopelessness  of  continuing  this  life  for 
long.  To  begin  with,  Kate's  nerves  could  not  stand  it. 
She  was  brave  enough,  but  she  had  an  imagination,  and 
what  woman  with  that  could  stand  being  left  alone  in  the 
dark  for  twelve  hours  at  a  time,  never  knowing  if  the  slow 
starvation,  which  would  be  her  fate  if  anything  untoward 
happened  to  him,  had  not  already  begun?  He  could  not 
expect  her  to  stand  it,  when  three  days  of  something  far 
less  difficult  had  left  him  haggard,  his  nerves  unstrung; 
left  him  with  the  possibility  looming  in  the  future  of  his 
losing  his  self-control  some  day,  and  going  madly  for  the 
whole  world  as  young  Mainwaring  had  done.  Not  that 
he  cared  for  Kate's  safety  so  much,  as  that  the  mere 


THE  DEATH  PLEDGE.  28 1 

thought  of  failure  roused  a  beast-like  ferocity  in  him. 
So,  as  he  wandered  restlessly  about  the  city,  waiting  in  a 
fever  of  impatience  for  some  sign  of  the  world  without 
those  rose-red  walls — waiting  day  by  day,  \\ith  a  growing 
tempest  of  rage,  for  the  night  to  return  and  let  him  creep 
up  some  dark  stairs  and  assure  himself  of  a  woman's 

safety,  he  was  piecing  together  a  plan  in  case Of 

what?  In  case  the  stories  he  heard  in  the  bazaars  were 
true?  No!  that  was  impossible.  How  could  the  Eng- 
lish have  been  wiped  out  of  India?  Yet  as  he  saw  the 
deserted  shops  being  reopened  in  solemn  procession  by 
an  old  pantaloon  on  an  elephant  calling  himself  the 
Emperor,  wdien  he  saw  Abool-Bukr  letting  off  squibs 
in  general  rejoicing  over  the  re-establishment  of  Moham- 
medan empire;  above  all  when  he  saw  the  tide  of  life 
returning  to  the  streets,  his  mad  desire  to  strike  a  blow 
and  smash  the  sham  was  tempered  by  an  almost  unbear- 
able curiosity  as  to  what  had  really  fiappened.  But  he 
dared  not  try  and  find  out.  Useless  though  he  knew  it 
was,  he  hung  round  the  quarter  where  Kate  lay  concealed 
for  the  day,  feeling  a  certain  consolation  in  knowing  that 
he  was  as  close  to  her  as  he  dared  to  be.  Such  a  life  was 
manifestly  impossible,  and  so,  bit  by  bit,  his  plan  grew. 
Yet,  when  it  had  grown,  he  almost  shrank  from  it,  so 
strange  did  it  seem,  in  its  linking  of  the  past  with  the 
present.  For  Kate  must  pass  as  his  wife — his  sick  wife. 
hidden,  as  Zora  had  been,  on  some  terraced  roof,  with 
Tara  as  her  servant ;  he,  meanwhile,  passing  as  an  Afghan 
horse-dealer,  kept  from  returning  North,  like  others  of 
his  trade,  by  this  illness  in  his  house.  The  plan  was  per- 
fectly feasible  if  Tara  would  consent.  And  Jim  Douglas, 
though  he  ignored  his  ow^n  certainty,  never  really  doubted 
that  she  would.  He  had  not  been  born  in  the  mist- 
covered  mountains  of  the  North  for  nothing.  Their 
mysticism  was  part  of  his  nature,  and  he  felt  that  he  had 
saved  her  for  this;  that  for  this,  and  this  only,  he  had 
played  that  childish  but  successful  cantrip  with  her  hair. 
In  a  way,  was  not  the  pathetic  idyl  on  the  roof  with  little 
Zora  but  a  rehearsal  of  a  tragedy — a  rehearsal  without 
which  he  could  not  have  played  his  part?  Strange  thread 
of  fate,  indeed,  linking  these  women  together!  and  though 


252  o.V  THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

he  shrank  from  admitting  its  very  existence,  it  gave  him 
confidence  that  the  whole  would  hang  together  securely. 
So  that  when  he  sought  Tara  out,  his  only  real  doubt  was 
whether  it  would  be  wiser  to  tell  her  the  truth  about 
Kate,  or  assert  that  she  was  his  wife.  He  chose  the  lat- 
ter as  less  risky,  since,  even  if  Tara  refused  aid,  she  would 
not  overtly  betray  anyone  belonging  to  him. 

But  Tara  did  not  refuse.  To  begin  with,  she  could 
have  refused  nothing  in  the  first  joy  of  finding  him  safe 
when  she  had  believed  him  dead  like  all  the  other 
Huzoors.  And  then  a  vast  confusion  of  love,  and  pride, 
and  remorse,  and  fierce  passionate  denial  of  all  three,  led 
her  into  consent.  If  the  Huzoor  wanted  her  to  help  to 
save  his  wife  why  should  she  object?  Though  it  was 
nothing  to  her  if  the  mem  was  his  mem  or  not.  Jim 
Douglas,  listening  to  the  eager  protest,  wondered  if  he 
might  not  safely  have  saved  himself  an  unnecessary  com- 
plication; but  then  he  wondered  at  many  things  Tara 
said  and  did.  At  her  quick  frown  w^hen  he  promised  her 
both  hair  and  locket  as  her  reward.  At  the  faint  quiver 
amid  the  scorn  with  which  she  had  replied  that  he  would 
still  want  the  latter  for  the  mem's  hair.  At  her  slow 
smile  when  he  opened  the  gold  oval  to  show  the  black 
lock  still  in  sole  possession.  She  had  turned  aside  to 
look  at  the  hearth-cakes  she  had  been  toasting  when  he 
came  in,  and  then  gone  into  the  necessary  details  of 
arrangement  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  way.  Naturally 
the  Huzoor  had  sought  help  from  his  servant.  From 
whom  else  could  he  seek  it?  As  for  her  saintship,  there 
was  nothing  new  in  that.  She  had  been  suttee  always 
as  the  master  very  well  knew.  So  nothing  she  did  for 
him,  or  he  for  her,  could  make  that  suffer.  Therefore  she 
would  arrange  as  she  had  arranged  for  Zora.  The 
Huzoor  must  rent  a  roof — roofs  were  safest — and  she 
would  engage  a  half-blind,  half-deaf  old  sweeper-woman 
she  knew  of.  Perhaps  another  if  need  be.  But  the 
Huzoor  need  have  no  fear  of  such  details  if  he  gave  her 
money.  And  this  Jim  Douglas  had  hidden  in  the  garden 
of  his  deserted  bungalow  in  Duryagunj ;  so  that  in  truth 
it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  plan  had  been  evolved  for  them 
by  a  kindlv  fate. 


THE  DEATH  PLEDGE.  283 

And  yet  Jim  Douglas  felt  a  keen  pang  of  regret  when, 
for  the  first  time,  he  gave  the  familiar  knock  of  those  old 
Lucknow  days  at  the  door  of  a  Delhi  roof  and  Tara 
opened  it  to  him,  dressed  in  the  old  crimson  drapery, 
the  gold  bangles  restored  to  her  beautiful  brown  arms. 
He  had  brought  Kate  round  during  the  previous  night 
to  the  lodging  he  had  managed  to  secure  in  the  Mufti's 
quarter,  and,  leaving  her  there  alone,  had  taken  the  key 
to  Tara;  this  being  the  safest  plan,  since  everything 
could  then  be  arranged  in  discreet  woman's  fashion  be- 
fore he  put  in  an  appearance. 

And  the  task  had  been  done  well.  The  outside  square 
or  yard  of  parapeted  roof  which  he  entered  lay  conven- 
tional to  the  uttermost.  A  spinning-wheel  here,  a  row 
of  water-pots  there,  a  mat,  a  reed  stool  or  two,  a  cooking 
place  in  one  corner,  a  ragged  canvas  screen  at  the  inner 
doors.  Nothing  there  to  prepare  him  for  finding  an 
Englishwoman  within;  an  Englishwoman  with  a  faint 
color  in  her  wan  cheeks;  a  new  peace  in  her  gray  eyes, 
busy — Heaven  save  the  mark! — in  sticking  some  dis- 
jointed jasmine  buds  into  the  shallow  saucer  of  a  water- 
pot. 

"  Tara  brought  them  strung  on  a  string,"  said  Kate 
half  apologetically  after  her  first  welcome,  as  she  noted 
his  look.  "  I  suppose  she  meant  me  to  wear  them — ■ 
with  the  other  things,"  she  paused  to  glance  down  with 
a  smile  at  her  dress,  "  but  it  seemed  a  pity.  They  w^ere 
like  a  new  world  to  me — like  a  promise — somehow." 

He  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  string  bed  feeling  a 
little  dazed  and  looked  at  her  and  her  surroundings 
critically.  It  was  a  pleasant  sunshiny  bit  of  roof,  vaulted 
by  the  still  cool  morning  sky.  There  was  a  little  arcaded 
room  at  one  end,  the  topmost  branches  of  a  neem  tree 
showed  over  one  side;  on  the  other,  the  swelling  dome 
of  the  big  mosque  looked  like  a  great  white  cloud,  and 
in  one  corner  was  a  sort  of  square  turret,  from  the  roof 
of  which,  gained  by  a  narrow  brick  ladder,  the  whole 
city  was  visible.  For  it  w^as  the  highest  house  in  the 
quarter,  higher  even  than  the  roof  beside  it,  over  which 
the  same  neem  tree  cast  a  shadow. 

And  as  he  looked,  he  thought  idly  that  no  dress  in  the 


284  OAT    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

world  was  moie  graceful  than  the  Delhi  dress  with  its 
billowy  train  and  loose,  soft,  fdmy  veil.  And  Kate 
looked  well  in  white — all  in  white.  He  pulled  himself 
up  sharply;  but  indeed  memory  was  playing  him  tricks, 
and  the  stress  and  strain  of  reality  seemed  far  from  that 
slip  of  sun-saturated  roof  where  a  graceful  woman  in 
white  was  sticking  jasmine  buds  into  water.  And  sud- 
denly the  thought  came  that  Zora  would  have  worn  the 
chaplets  heedlessly;  there  would  have  been  no  senti- 
mentality over  withered  flowers  on  her  part. 

"A  promise,"  he  echoed  half-bitterly.  "Well!  one 
must  hope  so.  And  even  if  the  worst  comes,  it  will  come 
easier  here." 

She  looked  up  at  him  reproachfully.  "  Don't  remind 
me  of  that,  please,"  she  said  hurriedly;  "  I  seem  to  have 
forgotten — here  under  the  blue  sky.  I  dare  say  it's  very 
trivial  of  me,  but  I  can't  help  it.  Everything  amuses  me, 
interests  me.  It  is  so  quaint,  so  new.  Even  this  dress; 
it  is  hardly  credible,  but  I  wished  so  much  for  a  looking- 
glass  just  now,  to  see  how  I  looked  in  it." 

Her  eyes  met  his  almost  gayly,  and  he  felt  an  odd 
resentment  in  recognizing  that  Zora  would  have  said  the 
words  as  frankly. 

"  I  have  one  here — in  a  ring,"  he  replied  somewhat 
stiffly,  with  a  vague  feeling  he  had  done  all  this  before, 
as  he  untied  the  knot  of  a  small  bundle  he  had  brought 
with  him.  "  It  is  not  much  use — for  that  sort  of  thing — 
I'm  afraid,"  he  went  on,  "  but  I  think  you  had  better 
have  these :  it  is  a  great  point — even  for  your  own  sake — 
to  dress  as  well  as  play  the  part." 

Kate,  with  a  sudden  gravity,  looked  at  the  pile  of 
native  ornaments  he  emptied  out  on  to  the  bed.  Brace- 
lets in  gold  and  silver,  anklets,  odd  little  jeweled  tassels 
for  the  hair,  quaint  silk-strung  necklets  and  talismans. 

"  Here  is  the  looking-glass,"  he  said,  choosing  out  a 
tiny  round  one  set  in  filigree  gold;  "  you  must  wear  it  on 
your  thumb — but  it  will  barely  go  on  my  little  finger," 
he  spoke  half  to  himself,  and  Kate,  fitting  on  the  ring, 
looked  at  him  and  set  her  lips. 

"  It  is  too  small  for  me  also,"  she  said,  laying  it  down 
with  a  faint  air  of  distaste.     "  They  are  very  pretty,  Mr. 


THE  DEATH  PLEDGE.  285 

Greyman,"  she  added  quickly,  "  but  I  would  rather  not — • 
unless  it  is  really  necessary — unless  you  think " 

He  rose  half-wearily,  half-impatiently.  "  I  should 
prefer  it;  but  you  can  do  as  you  like.  The  jewels  be- 
longed to  a  woman  I  loved  very  dearly,  Mrs.  Erlton. 
She  was  not  my  wife — but  she  was  a  good  woman  for 
all  that.     You  need  not  be  afraid." 

Kate  felt  the  blood  tingle  to  her  face  as  she  laid  violent 
hands  on  the  first  ornament  she  touched.  It  happened 
to  be  a  solid  gold  bangle.  "  It  is  too  small  too,"  she 
said  petulantly,  trying  to  squeeze  her  hand  through  it. 
"  Really  it  would  be  better " 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  replied  coolly,  "  if  you  will  let  me." 
He  drew  the  great  carved  knobs  apart  deftly,  slipped  her 
wrist  sideways  through  the  opening,  and  had  them  closed 
again  in  a  second. 

"  You  can't  take  it  ofif  at  night,  that  is  all,"  he  went  on, 
"  but  I  will  tell  Tara  to  show  you  how  to  wear  the  rest. 
I  must  be  off  now  and  settle  a  thousand  things." 

As  he  passed  into  the  outer  roof  once  more,  Kate  felt 
that  flush,  half  of  resentment,  half  of  shame,  still  on  her 
face.  In  such  surroundings  how  trivial  it  was,  and  yet 
he  had  guessed  her  thought  truly.  Had  he  guessed 
also  the  odd  thrill  which  the  touch  of  that  gold  fetter 
gave  her?  Half-mechanically  she  tried  to  loosen  it,  to 
remove  it,  and  then  with  an  impatient  frown  desisted  and 
began  to  put  on  the  other  bracelets.  What  did  it  matter, 
one  way  or  the  other?  And  then,  becoming  interested 
despite  herself,  she  set  to  work  to  puzzle  out  uses  and 
places  for  the  pile. 

Meanwhile  Jim  Douglas  was  dinning  instructions 
into  Tara's  ear;  but  she  also,  he  told  himself  angrily,  was 
trivial  to  the  last  degree.  And  when  finally  he  urged 
an  immediate  darkening  of  Kate's  hair  and  a  faint  stain- 
ing of  the  face  to  suit  the  only  part  possible  with  her  gray 
eyes — that  of  a  fair  Afghan — he  flung  away  in  despair 
from  the  irrelevant  remark: 

"  But  the  mem  will  never  be  so  pretty  as  Zora;  and 
besides  she  has  such  big  feet." 

Big  feet!  He  swore  under  his  breath  that  all  women 
were  alike  in  this,  that  they  saw  the  whole  world  through 


286  ox   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

the  medium  of  their  sex;  and  \hai  was  at  the  ])ottom  of 
all  the  mischief.  Delhi  had  been  lost  to  save  women; 
the  trouble  had  begun  to  please  them.  Even  now,  as 
far  as  he  could  see,  resistance  would  collapse  but  for  one 
woman's  ambition;  though  despite  the  Queen  and  her 
plots,  a  hundred  brave  men  or  so  might  still  be  masters 
of  Delhi  if  they  chose.  Since  it  was  still  each  for  him- 
self, and  the  devil  take  the  hindmost  with  the  mutineers. 
The  certainty  of  this  had  made  these  long  days  of  inac- 
tion almost  beyond  bearing  to  him;  and  as  Jim  Douglas 
passed  out  into  the  street  he  thought  bitterly  that  here 
again  a  woman  stood  in  the  way;  since  but  for  Kate  he 
could  surely  have  forced  Meerut  into  making  reprisals 
by  reporting  the  true  state  of  afYairs. 

Yet  every  hour  made  these  reprisals  more  difficult. 
Indeed,  as  he  left  the  Mufti's  quarters  on  that  morning 
of  the  1 6th  of  May,  something  was  going  on  in  the 
Palace  which  ended  indecision  for  many  a  man  and  left 
no  chance  of  retreat.  For  Zeenut  Maihl  saw  facts  as 
clearly  as  Jim  Douglas,  and  knew  that  the  first  tramp  of 
disciplined  feet  would  be  the  signal  for  scuttle;  if  a 
chance  of  escape  remained. 

And  so  this  something  was  going  on.  By  someone's 
orders  of  course;  by  whose  is  one  of  the  imanswered 
questions  of  the  Indian  Mutiny. 

The  Queen  herself  was  sitting  with  the  King,  amic- 
ably, innocently,  applauding  his  latest  couplet;  which 
was  in  sober  truth,  one  of  his  best: 

"  God  takes  this  dice-box  world,  shakes  upside  down, 
Throws  one  defeat,  and  one  a  kingly  crown." 

He  was  beginning  to  feel  the  latter  on  the  old  head, 
which  was  so  diligently  stufifed  wnth  dreams;  but  the 
Queen  knew  in  her  heart  of  hearts  that  the  fight  for 
sovereignty  had  only  just  begun.  So  her  mind  was 
chiefly  occupied  in  a  spiteful  exultation  at  the  thought 
of  some  folk's  useless  terror  when — this  thing  being 
done — they  would  find  their  hands  irrevocably  on  the 
plow.  Ahsan-Oolah  and  Elahi-Buksh,  for  instance; 
their  elaborate  bridges  would  be  viseless;  and  Abool- 
Bukr  with  his  squibs  and  processions,  Farkhoonda  with 


THE   DEATH  PLEDGE.  28; 

her  patter  of  virtue  and  religion.  If  only  for  the  sake 
of  immeshing  this  last  victim  Zeenut  Maihl  would  not 
have  shrunk;  since  those  three  or  four  days  of  cozening 
had  left  the  Queen  with  a  still  more  vigorous  hate  for  the 
Princess  Farkhoonda,  who  had  fallen  into  the  trap  so 
easily,  and  who  already  began  to  give  herself  airs  and 
discuss  the  future  on  a  plane  of  equality.  Pretty,  con- 
ceited fool!  who  even  now,  so  the  spies  said,  was  wait- 
ing to  receive  the  Prince,  her  nephew,  for  the  first  time 
since  she  came  to  the  Palace.  The  very  fact  that  it  was 
the  first  time  seemed  an  aggravation  in  the  Queen's 
angry  eyes,  proving  as  it  did  a  certain  reality  in  Fark- 
hoonda's  pretensions  to  decorum. 

In  truth  they  were  very  real  to  the  Princess  herself; 
had  been  gaining  reality  ever  since  that  first  deft  sugges- 
tion of  a  possibility  had  set  her  heart  beating.  The 
possibility,  briefly,  of  the  King  choosing  to  set  aside  that 
early  marriage  so  tragically  interrupted;  choosing  to 
declare  it  no  marriage  and  give  his  consent  to  another. 
Newasi  had  indignantly  scouted  the  suggestion,  had 
stopped  her  ears,  her  heart;  but  the  remembrance  of  it 
lingered,  enervating  her  mind,  and  as  she  waited  for  the 
interview  with  the  Prince  she  felt  vaguely  that  it  was  a 
very  different  matter  receiving  him  in  these  bride-like 
garments,  in  these  dim,  heavily  scented  rooms,  to  what  it 
had  been  under  the  clear  sky  in  her  scholar's  dress.  Yet 
as  she  stooped  from  mere  habit,  aroused  by  the  finery 
itself,  to  arrange  her  long  brocaded  train  into  better  folds, 
she  gave  something  between  a  sigh  and  a  laugh  at  the 
certainty  of  his  admiration.  And  after  all,  why  should 
she  not  have  it  if  the  King 

The  sound  of  a  distant  shot  made  her  start  and  pause, 
listening  for  another.  So  she  stood  a  slim  figure  ablaze 
with  color  and  jewels,  a  figure  with  studied  seductiveness 
in  every  detail  of  its  dress;  and  she  knew  that  it  was  so. 
Why  not?     If — if  he  liked  it  so,  and  if  the  King 

Newasi  clasped  her  hands  nervously  and  walked  up 
and  down  the  dim  room.  Abool  was  late,  and  he  had  no 
right  to  be  late  on  this  his  first  visit  of  ceremony  to  his 
aunt.  The  Mirza-sahib  was  no  doubt  late,  admitted  her 
attendants,  but  the  door-keeper  had  reported  a  disturb- 


288  O.V    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

ance  of  some  kind  in  the  outer  court  which  might  be  the 
cause  of  delay. 

A  disturbance!  Newasi,  a  born  coward,  shrank  from 
the  very  thought,  though  she  fek  that  it  could  be  noth- 
ing— nothing  but  one  of  the  many  brawls,  the  constant 
quarrels. 

God  and  his  prophet!  who — what  was  that?  She  re- 
coiled with  a  scream  of  terror  from  the  wild  figure  which 
burst  in  on  her  unceremoniously,  which  followed  her 
retreat  into  the  far  corner,  f^ung  itself  at  her  knees,  clasp- 
ing them,  burying  its  face  among  her  scented  draperies. 
But  by  that  time  her  terror  was  gone,  and  she  stooped, 
trying  to  free  herself  from  those  clinging  arms,  from  the 
disgrace,  from  the  outrage;  from  the  drunken 

"Abool!"  she  cried  fiercely,  then  turning  to  the 
curious  tittering  women,  stamped  her  foot  at  them  and 
bade  them  begone.  And  when  they  had  obeyed,  she  beat 
her  little  hands  against  those  clinging  ones  again  with 
wild  upbraidings,  till  suddenly  they  fell  as  if  paralyzed 
before  the  awful  horror  and  dread  in  the  face  which  rose 
from  her  fineries. 

"Come,  Newasi!"  stammered  the  white  trembling 
lips,  "  come  from  this  hangman's  den.  Did  I  not  warn 
thee?  But  thou  hast  put  the  rope  rovmd  my  neck — I 
who  only  wanted  to  live  my  own  life,  die  my  own  death. 
Come!     Come! " 

He  stumbled  to  his  feet,  but  seemed  unable  to  stir. 
So  he  stood  looking  at  his  hands  stupidly. 

Farkhoonda  looked  too,  her  face  growing  gray. 

"  What  is't,  Abool?  "  she  faltered;  "  wdiat  is't,  dear?  " 

But  she  knew;  it  was  blood,  new  shed,  still  wet. 

He  stood  silent,  gazing  at  the  stains  stupidly.  "  I  did 
not  strike,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  but  I  called;  or  did 

I   strike?     I — I "     He  threw  up  his  head  and   his 

words  rushed  recklessly  in  a  high  shrill  voice,  "  I  warned 
thee!  I  told  thee  it  was  not  safe!  They  were  herded 
like  sheep  in  the  svmshine  by  the  cistern,  and  the  smell  of 
blood  rose  up.  It  was  in  my  very  nostrils,  for,  look  you. 
that  first  shot  missed  them  and  killed  one  of  my  men.  I 
saw  it.  A  round  red  spot  oozing  over  the  white — and 
they  herded  like  sheep " 


THE  DEATH  PLEDGE.  289 

"Who?"  she  asked  faintly. 

"  I  told  thee;  the  prisoners,  with  the  cry  to  kill  above 
the  cries  of  the  children,  the  flash  of  blood-dulled  swords 

above  women's  heads — and  I Nay!  I  warned  thee, 

Newasi,  there  was  butcher  here " — his  blood-stained 
hands  left  their  mark  on  his  gay  clothes. 

"  Abool!  "  she  cried,  "  thou  didst  not " 

"Did  I?"  he  almost  screamed.  "God!  will  it  ever 
leave  my  sight?  I  gave  the  call,  I  ran  in,  I  drew  my 
sword.  It  spurted  over  my  hands  from  a  child's  throat 
as  I  would  have  struck — or — or — did  I  strike?  Ne- 
wasi!" his  voice  had  sunk  again  almost  to  a  whisper, 
"  it  was  in   its  mother's  arms, — she   did  not  cry, — she 

looked  and  I — I "  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands — 

"  I  came  to  thee." 

She  stood  looking  at  him  for  a  moment,  her  hands 
clenched,  her  beautiful  soft  eyes  ablaze;  then  recklessly 
she  tore  the  jewels  from  her  arms,  her  neck,  her  hair. 

"So  she  has  dared!  Yea!  Come!  thou  art  right, 
Abool!"  The  words  mixed  themselves  with  the  tinkle 
of  bracelets  as,  flung  from  her  in  wnld  passion,  they  rolled 
into  the  corners  of  the  room,  with  the  chink  of  necklaces 
as  they  fell,  with  the  rustle  of  brocade  and  tinsel  as  she 
tore  them  from  her.  "  She  has  killed  them — the  helpless 
fugitives,  guests  who  have  eaten  the  King's  salt!  She 
thinks  to  beguile  us  all — to  beguile  thee.  But  she  shall 
not.  It  is  not  too  late.  Come!^  Come!  Abool — thou 
shalt  have  all  from  me — yea!  all,  sooner  than  she  should 
beguile  thee  thus — Come!" 

She  had  snatched  an  old  white  veil  from  its  peg  and 
wrapped  it  round  her,  as  she  passed  rapidly  to  the  door; 
but  he  did  not  move.  So  she  passed  back  again  as 
swiftly  to  take  his  hand,  stained  as  it  was,  and  lay  her 
cheek  to  it  caressmgly. 

"Thou  didst  not  strike,  dear,  thou  didst  not!  Come, 
dear,  that  she-devil  shall  not  have  thee — I  will  hold  thee 
fast." 

Five  minutes  after  a  plain  curtained  dhoolie  left  the 
precincts  and  swayed  past  the  Great  Hall  of  Audience 
with  its  toothed  red  arches,  looking  as  if  they  yawned 
for  victims.     The  courtyard  beyond  lay  strangely  silent, 


290  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

despite  the  shifting  crowd,  which  gathered  and  melted 
and  gathered  again  round  the  httle  tree-shaded  cistern 
where  but  the  day  before  Hafzan  and  the  Moulvie  had 
watched  a  mother  pause  to  clasp  her  baby  to  softer, 
securer  rest. 

The  woman  and  the  child  were  at  the  cistern  now,  and 
the  Rest  had  come.  Softer,  securer  than  all  other  rest, 
and  the  mother  shared  it;  shared  it  with  other  women, 
other  children. 

But  as  the  Princess  Farkhoonda,  fearful  of  what  she 
might  see,  peeped  through  the  dhoolie  curtains,  there 
was  nothing  to  be  seen  save  the  shifting,  curious  crowd, 
while  the  impartial  sunshine  streamed  down  on  it,  and 
those  on  whom  it  gazed. 

So  let  the  shifting,  crowding  years  with  their  relentless 
questioning  eyes  shut  out  all  thought  of  what  lay  by  the 
cistern,  save  that  of  rest  and  the  impartial  sunshine 
streaming  upon  it. 

For  as  the  beautiful  soft  eyes  drew  back  relieved,  a 
bugle  rang  through  the  arcades,  echoed  from  the  wall, 
floated  out  into  the  city.  The  bugle  to  set  watch  and 
ward,  to  close  the  gates;  since  the  irrevocable  step  had 
been  taken,  the  death-pledge  made. 

So  the  dream  of  sovereignty  began  in  earnest  behind 
closed  gates.  But  if  women  had  lost  Delhi,  those  who 
lay  murdered  about  the  little  cistern  had  regained  it. 
For  Hafzan  had  spoken  truth;  the  strength  of  the 
Huzoors  lay  there. 

The  strength  of  the  real  Master, 


CHAPTER   n. 

peace!     peace! 

Three  weeks  had  passed,  and  still  the  dream  of  sover- 
eignty went  on  behind  the  closed  gates,  while  all  things 
shimmered  and  simmered  in  the  fierce  blaze  of  summer 
sunlight.  The  city  lay — a  rose-red  glare  dazzling  to 
look  at — beside  the  glittering  curves  of  the  river,  and  the 


PEACE!    PEACE!  29^ 

deserted  Ridge,  more  like  a  lizard  than  ever,  sweltered 
and  slept  lazily,  its  tail  in  the  cool  blue  water,  its  head 
upon  the  cool  green  groves  of  the  Subz-mundi.  And 
over  all  lay  a  liquid  yellow  heat-haze  blurring  every  out- 
line, till  the  whole  seemed  some  vast  mirage. 

And  still  there  were  no  tidings  of  the  master,  no  cloud 
of  dust  upon  the  Meerut  road.     None. 

Amazing,  incredible  fact!  Men  whispered  of  it  on  the 
steps  of  the  Great  Mosque  when,  the  last  Friday  of  the 
fast  coming  round,  its  commination  service  brought 
many  from  behind  closed  doors  to  realize  that  by  such 
signs  of  kingship  as  beatings  of  drums,  firing  of  salutes, 
and  levying  of  loans,  Bahadur  Shah  rcallv  had  filched 
the  throne  of  his  ancestors  from  the  finest  fighters  in  the 
world.  Filched  it  without  a  blow,  without  a  struggle, 
without  even  a  threat,  a  defiance. 

So  here  they  were  in  a  new  world  without  posts  or 
telegraphs,  laws  or  order.  Time  itself  turned  back  hun- 
dreds of  years  and  all  power  of  progress  vested  abso- 
lutely in  one  old  man,  the  Light  of  Religion,  the 
Defender  of  the  Faith,  the  Great  Moghul.  If  that  were 
not  a  miracle  it  came  too  perilously  near  to  one  for  some 
folk's  loyalty;  and  so  they  drifted  palaceward  when 
prayers  were  over  to  swell  the  growing  crowd  of  cour- 
tiers about  the  Dream  King.  And  even  the  learned  and 
most  loyal  lingered  on  the  steps  to  whisper,  and  call 
obscure  prophecies  and  ingenious  commentaries  to 
mind,  ancl  admit  that  it  was  strange,  wondrous  strange, 
that  the  numerical  values  of  the  year  should  yield  the 
anagram  "  Ungrcz  tiibbah  sliood  ha  hur  soorut,"  briefly 
"  The  British  shall  be  annihilated."  For  the  Oriental 
mind  loves  such  trivialities. 

And,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  the  English  were 
annihilated,  during  that  short  month  of  peace  between 
the  nth  of  May  and  the  8th  of  June,  1857;  for  Delhi 
knew^  nothing  of  the  vain  striving,  the  ceaseless  efiforts 
of  the  master  to  find  tents  and  carriages,  horses,  ammu- 
nition, medicine,  everything  once  more,  save,  thank 
Heaven!  courage,  and  the  determination  to  be  master 
still. 

Even  Soma  admitted  the  miracle  grudgingly;  for  he 


i^i  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

had  so  far  bolstered  up  his  disloyalty  by  thoughts  of  a 
fair  fight.  He  had  uot,  after  all,  gone  to  Delhi  direct, 
but  had  cut  across  country  to  his  own  village  near  Hansi, 
and  had  waited  there,  hoping  to  hear  of  a  regular  out- 
break of  hostilities  before  definitely  choosing  his  side; 
and  he  was  still  waiting  when,  after  a  fortnight,  his 
greatest  chum  in  the  regiment  had  turned  up  from 
Meerut.  For  Davee  Singh  had  been  one  of  the  many 
sepoys  of  the  nth  who  had  gone  back  to  the  colors  after 
that  one  brief  night  of  temptation  was  over.  Soma  had 
known  this,  and  more  than  once  as  he  waited,  the 
knowledge  had  been  as  a  magnet  drawing  him  back  to 
the  old  pole  of  thought;  for  that  his  chum  should  be 
led  to  victory  and  he  be  among  the  defeated  was  probable 
enough  to  make  Soma  hate  himself  in  anticipation. 

But  here  was  Davee  Singh,  a  deserter  like  he  was, 
sulkily  uncommunicative  to  the  village  gossips,  but  to 
his  fellow  admitting  fiercely  that  the  latter  had  been 
right.  The  Huzoors  had  forgotten  how  to  fight. 
Meerut  was  quiet  as  the  grave ;  but  there  was  no  word  of 
Delhi,  and  folk  said — what  did  they  not  say? 

So  these  two,  with  a  strange  mixture  of  regret  and  re- 
lief in  their  hearts,  set  out  for  Delhi  to  see  what  was 
happening  there ;  not  knowing  that  many  of  their  fellows 
were  drifting  from  it,  weary  like  themselves  of  inaction. 

They  had  arrived  there,  two  swaggering  Rajpoots,  in 
the  midst  of  the  thanksgivings  and  jollity  of  the  Moham- 
medan Easter  which  followed  on  the  last  Friday  of  Fast; 
and  they  had  fallen  foul  of  it  frankly.  As  frankly  as  the 
Mohammedans  would  have  fallen  foul  of  a  Hindoo 
Saturnalia,  or  both  Mohammedans  and  Hindoos  would 
have  fallen  foul  of  the  festivities  in  honor  of  the 
Queen's  Birthday  which,  on  this  25th  of  May,  1857,  were 
going  on  in  every  cantonment  in  India  as  if  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  mutiny  in  the  world.  So,  annoyed  with 
what  they  saw  and  heard,  they  joined  themselves  to 
other  Rajpoot  malcontents  promptly.  They  sneered  at 
the  old  pantaloon's  procession,  which  was  in  truth  a  poor 
one,  though  half  the  tailors  in  Delhi  had  been  impressed 
to  hurry  up  trappings  and  robes.  Perhaps  if  Abool-Bukr 
had  still  been  in  charge  of  squibs  and  such  like,  it  would 


PEA CE !     PEA CE !  2  9  3 

have  been  better;  but  he  was  not.  The  order  he  had 
given  to  let  the  Princess  Farkhoonda's  dhooHe  pass  out, 
before  the  gates  were  closed  on  that  day  of  the  death- 
pledge,  had  been  his  last  exercise  of  authority;  for  the 
next  Court  Journal  contained  the  announcement  that 
he  was  dismissed  from  his  appointment.  So  he,  hover- 
ing between  the  Thunbi  Bazaar  and  the  Mufti's  quarter, 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  procession  at  which  the 
Rajpoots  sneered,  criticising  Mirza  Moghul,  the  Com- 
mander-in-Chief's seat  on  a  horse,  and  talking  boastfully 
of  Vicra-maditya  and  Pertap  as  warlike  Hindoos  will. 
Until,  about  dusk,  words  came  to  blows  amid  a  tinkling 
of  anklets  and  a  terrible  smell  of  musk;  for  valor  drifted 
as  a  matter  of  course  to  the  wooden  balconies  of  the 
Thunbi  Bazaar  during  the  month  of  miracle.  So  that 
the  inmates,  coining  money,  called  dow'n  blessings  on 
the  new^  regime. 

Soma,  however,  with  a  cut  over  one  eye  sorely  in  need 
of  a  stitch,  sw'ore  loudly  when  he  could  find  none  to  patch 
him  up  save  a  doddering  old  Hakeem,  who  proposed 
dosing  him  with  paper  pills  inscribed  with  the  name  of 
Providence:  an  incredible  remedy  to  one  accustomed  to 
all  the  appliances  of  hospitals  and  skilled  surgery. 

"  Yea!  no  doubt  he  is  a  fool,"  assented  the  other  se- 
poys in  frank  commiseration,  "  yet  he  is  the  best  you 
w'ill  get.  For  see  you,  brother,  the  doctors  belong  to 
the  Huzoors;  so  many  a  brave  man  must  expect  to  die 
needlessly,  since  those  cursed  dressers  are  not  safe. 
There  w^as  one  took  the  bottles  and  things  and  swore  he 
could  use  them  as  well  as  any.  And  luck  w^ent  with  him 
until  he  gave  five  heroes  who  had  been  drunk  the  night 
before  somewhat  to  clear  their  heads.  By  all  the  gods 
in  Indra's  heaven  they  were  clear  even  of  life  in  half  an 
hour.  So  we  fell  on  the  dresser  and  cleared  him  too. 
Yea!  fool  or  no  fool,  paper  pills  are  safer!  " 

Jim  Douglas,  who,  profiting  by  the  dusk  and  confu- 
sion, had  lingered  by  the  group  after  recognizing  Soma's 
voice,  turned  away  with  a  savage  chuckle;  not  that  the 
tale  amused  him,  but  that  he  w^as  glad  to  think  six  of  the 
devils  had  gone  to  their  account.  For  those  long  days 
of  peace  and  enforced  inaction  had  sunk  him  lower  and 


294  OX    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

lower  into  sheer  animal  hatred  of  those  he  dare  not  re- 
buke. He  knew  it  himself,  he  felt  that  his  very  courage 
was  becoming  ferocity,  and  the  thought  that  others, 
biding  their  time  as  he  was,  must  be  sinking  into 
it  also,  filled  him  with  fierce  joy  at  the  thought  of 
future  revenge.  And  yet,  so  far  as  he  personally 
was  concerned,  those  long  days  had  passed  quietly, 
securely,  peacefully,  and  he  could  at  any  time 
climb  out  of  all  sight  and  sound  of  turmoil  to  a  slip  of 
sunlit  roof  where  a  woman  waited  for  him  with  confidence 
and  welcome  in  her  eyes.  With  something  obtrusively 
English  also  for  his  refreshment,  since  tragedy,  even  the 
fear  of  death,  cannot  claim  a  whole  life,  and  Kate  took  to 
amusing  herself  once  more  by  making  her  corner  of  the 
East  as  much  like  the  West  as  she  dare.  That  was  not 
much,  but  Jim  Douglas'  eye  noted  the  indescribable 
difference  which  the  position  of  a  reed  stool,  the  presence 
of  a  poor  bunch  of  flowers,  the  little  row  of  books  in  a 
niche,  made  in  the  familiar  surroundings.  For  there 
were  books  and  to  spare  in  Delhi;  for  the  price  of  a  few 
pennies  Jim  Douglas  might  have  brought  her  a  cartload 
of  such  loot  had  he  deemed  it  safe;  but  he  did  not,  and  so 
the  library  consisted  of  grammars  and  vocabularies  from 
which  Kate  learned  with  a  rapidity  which  surprised  and 
interested  her  teacher.  In  truth  she  had  nothing  else  to 
do.  Yet  when  he  came,  as  he  often  did,  to  find  her  ab- 
sorbed in  her  work,  her  eyes  dreamy  wath  the  puzzle  of 
tense,  he  resented  it  inwardly,  telling  himself  once  more 
that  women  were  trivial  creatures,  and  life  seemed 
trivial  too,  for  in  truth  his  nerves  were  all  jangled  and 
out  of  tune  with  the  desire  to  get  away  from  this  strange 
shadow  of  a  past  idyll;  to  leave  all  womanhood  behind 
and  fall  to  fighting  manfully.  So  that  often  as  he  sat 
beside  her,  patient  outwardly,  inwardly  fretting  to  be 
gone  even  in  the  nightmare  of  the  city,  his  eye  would 
fall  on  the  circlet  of  gold  he  had  slipped,  out  of  sheer 
arrogance  and  imperious  temper,  round  that  slender 
wrist,  and  feel  that  somehow  he  had  fettered  himself 
hopelessly  when,  more  than  a  year  past,  he  had  given 
that  promise.  His  chance  and  hers!  Was  this  all? 
One  woman's  safety.     And  she,  following  his  eyes  to  the 


PEA  CE  !    PEA  CE  !  295 

bangle,  would  feel  the  thrill  of  its  first  touch  once  more, 
and  think  how  strange  it  was  that  his  chance  and  hers 
were  so  linked  together.  But,  being  a  woman,  her  heart 
would  soften  instinctively  to  the  man  who  sat  beside  her, 
and  whose  face  grew  sterner  and  more  haggard  day  by 
day;  while  hers? — she  could  see  enough  of  it  in  the  lit- 
tle looking-glass  on  her  thumb  to  recognize  that  she  was 
positively  getting  fat!  She  tried  to  amuse  him  by  telling 
him  so,  by  telling  him  many  of  the  little  humorous 
touches  which  come  even  into  tragic  life,  and  he  was 
quite  ready  to  smile  at  them.  But  only  to  please  her.  So 
day  by  day  a  silence  grew  between  them  as  they  sat  on 
the  inner  roof,  while  Tara  spun  outside,  or  watched  them 
furtively  from  some  corner.  And  the  flare  of  the  sunset, 
unseen  behind  the  parapeted  wall,  would  lie  on  the  swell- 
ing dome  and  spiked  minarets  of  the  mosque  and  make 
the  paper  kites,  flown  in  this  month  of  May  by  half  the 
town,  look  like  drifting  jewels;  fit  canopy  for  the  City  of 
Dreams  and  for  this  strangest  of  dreams  upon  the 
housetop. 

"  Has — has  anything  gone  wrong?  "  she  asked  in  des- 
peration one  day,  when  he  had  sat  moodily  silent  for  a 
longer  time  than  usual.  "  I  would  rather  you  told  me, 
Mr.  Greyman." 

He  looked  at  her,  vaguely  surprised  at  the  name;  for 
he  had  almost  forgotten  it.  Forgotten  utterly  that  she 
could  not  know  any  other.  And  why  should  she?  He 
had  made  the  promise  under  that  name;  let  them  stick 
to  it  so  long  as  Fate  had  linked  their  chances  together. 

"  Nothing;  not  for  us  at  least,"  he  said,  and  then  a 
sudden  remorse  at  his  own  unfriendliness  came  over  him. 
"  There  was  another  poor  chap  discovered  to-day,"  he 
added  in  a  softer  tone.  "  I  believe  that  you  and  I,  Mrs. 
Erlton,  must  be  the  only  two  left  now." 

"  I  dare  say,"  she  echoed  a  little  wearily,  "  they — they 
killed  him  I  suppose." 

He  nodded.  "  I  saw  his  body  in  the  bazaar  after- 
ward.    I  used  to  know  him  a  bit — a  clever  sort " 

"  Yes " 

"  Mixed  blood,  of  course,  or  he  could  not  have  passed 
muster  so  long  as  a  greengrocer's  assistant." 


296  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

"  Well — I  would  rather  hear  if  you  don't  mind." 

His  dark  eyes  met  hers  with  a  sudden  eagerness,  a 
sudden  passion  in  them. 

"  \\'hat  a  little  thing  life  is  after  all!  He  only  said  one 
word — only  one.  He  was  selling  watermelons,  and 
some  brute  tried  to  cheat  him  first,  and  then  cheeked  him. 
And  he  forgot  a  moment  and  said:  '  Chitp-ralw,'  (be 
silent) — only  that! — '  chtip-raho'  !  They  were  bragging 
of  it — the  devils.  '  We  knew  he  couldn't  be  a  coolie,  they 
said,  'that  is  a  master's  word.'  My  God!  What 
wouldn't  I  give  to  say  it  sometimes!  I  could  have 
shouted  to  them  then,  '  Chiip-raho,  you  fools !  you  cow- 
ards! '  and  some  of  them  would  have  been  silent 
enough " 

He  broke  off  hurriedly,  clenching  his  hands  like  a  vise 
on  each  other,  as  if  to  curb  the  tempest  of  words. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  rising  to 

walk  away;  "  I — I  lose  control "     He  paused  again 

and  shook  his  head  silently.  Kate  followed  him  and  laid 
her  hand  on  his  arm ;  the  loose  gold  fetter  slipped  to  her 
wrist  and  touched  him  too. 

"  You  think  I  don't  understand,"  she  said  with  a  sud- 
den sob  in  her  voice,  "  but  I  do — you  must  go  away — it 
isn't  worth  it — no  woman  is  worth  it." 

He  turned  on  her  sharply.  "  Go?  You  know  I  can't. 
What  is  the  use  of  suggesting  it?  ]\Irs.  Erlton!  Tara 
is  faithful;  but  she  is  faithful  to  me — only  to  me — you 
must  see  that  surely " 

"If  you  mean  that  she  loves  you — worships  the  very 
ground  you  tread  on,"  interrupted  Kate  sharply,  "  that 
is  evident  enough." 

"Is  that  my  fault?"  he  began  angrily;  "I  hap- 
pened  " 

"  Thank  you,  I  have  no  wish  to  hear  the  story." 

The  commonplace,  second-rate,  mock-dignified  phrase 
came  to  her  lips  unsought,  and  she  felt  she  could  have 
cried  in  sheer  vexation  at  having  used  it  there;  in  the 
very  face  of  Death  as  it  were.  But  Jim  Douglas  laughed; 
laughed  good-naturedly. 

"  I  wonder  how  many  years  it  is  since  I  heard  a  woman 
say  that?     In  another  world  surely,"  he  said  wdth  quite 


PEA CE !    PEA CE !  2  97 

a  confidential  tone.  "  But  tlie  fact  remains  that  Tara 
protects  you  as  my  wife,  and  if  1  were  to  go " 

Kate  looked  at  him  with  a  quick  resentment  flaming 
up  in  her  face  beneath  the  stain. 

"  I  think  you  are  mistaken,"  she  said  slowly.  "  I  be- 
lieve Tara  would  be  better  pleased  if — if  she  knew  the 
truth." 

"  You  mean  if  I  were  to  tell  her  you  are  not  my  wife?  " 
he  replied  quickly.     "  Why?  " 

"  Because  I  should  be  less  of  a  tie  to  you — be- 
cause  "       She  paused,    then    added    sharply,    "  Mr. 

Greyman,  I  must  ask  you  to  tell  her  the  truth,  please.  I 
have  a  right  to  so  much,  surely.  I  have  my  reasons  for 
it,  and  if  you  do  not,  I  shall." 

Jim  Douglas  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "In  that  case 
I  had  better  tell  her  myself;  not  that  I  think  it  matters 
much  one  way  or  another,  so  long  as  I  am  here.  And 
the  whole  thing  from  beginning  to  end  is  chance,  noth- 
ing but  chance." 

"  Your  chance  and  mine,"  she  murmured  half  to  her- 
self. It  was  the  first  time  she  had  alluded  openly  to  the 
strange  linking  of  their  fates,  and  he  looked  at  her  almost 
impatiently. 

"  Yes!  your  chance  and  mine;  and  we  must  make  the 
best  of  it.     I'll  tell  her  as  I  go  out." 

But  Tara  interrupted  him  at  the  beginning. 

"  If  the  Huzoor  means  that  he  does  not  love  the  mem 
as  he  loved  Zora,  that  requires  no  telling,  and  for  the 
rest  what  does  it  matter  to  this  slave?  " 

"  And  it  matters  nothing  to  me  either,"  he  retorted 
roughly,  "  but  of  this  be  sure.  Who  kills  the  mem  kills 
me,  unless  I  kill  first;  and  by  Krishnu,  and  Vishnu,  and 
the  lot,  I'd  as  lief  kill  you,  Tara,  as  anyone  else,  if  you 
get  in  my  way." 

A  great  broad  flash  of  white  teeth  lit  up  her  face  as  she 
salaamed,  remarking  that  the  Huzoor's  mother  must 
have  been  as  Kunti.  And  Jim  Douglas  understanding 
the  complimentary  allusion  to  the  God-visited  mother  of 
the  Lunar  race,  wished  as  he  went  downstairs,  that  he 
was  like  the  Five  Heroes  in  one  respect,  at  least,  and  that 
was  in  having  only  a  fifth  part  of  a  woman  to  look  after, 


298  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

instead  of  two  whole  ones  who  talked  of  love!  So  he 
passed  out  to  listen,  and  watch,  and  wait,  while  the  fire- 
balloons  went  up  into  the  velvety  sky,  replacing  the  kites. 
For  May  is  the  month  of  marriages  also,  and  night  after 
night  these  false  stars  floated  out  from  the  Dream-City 
to  form  new  constellations  on  the  horizon  for  a  few  min- 
utes and  then  disappear  with  a  flare  into  the  darkness. 
Into  the  darkness  whence  the  master  did  not  come.  Yet, 
as  the  month  ended,  villagers  passing  in  with  grain  from 
Meerut  averred  that  the  masters  were  not  all  dead,  or 
else  God  gave  their  ghosts  a  like  power  in  cursing  and 
smiting — which  was  all  poor  folk  had  to  look  for;  since 
some  had  appeared  and  burned  a  village. 

Not  all  dead?  The  news  drifted  from  market  to  mar- 
ket, but  if  it  penetrated  through  the  Palace  gates  it  did 
not  filter  through  the  new  curtains  and  hangings  of  the 
private  apartments  where  the  King  took  perpetual  cool- 
ing draughts  and  wrote  perpetual  appeals  for  more  eti- 
quette and  decorum.  For  nothing  likely  to  disturb  the 
unities  of  dreams  was  allowed  within  the  precincts,  where 
every  day  the  old  King  sat  on  a  mock  peacock  throne 
with  a  new  cushion  to  it,  and  listened  for  hours  to  the 
high-flown  letters  of  congratulation  which  poured  in, 
each  with  its  own  little  covering  bag  of  brocade,  from 
the  neighboring  chiefs.  And  if  any  day  there  happened 
to  be  a  paucity  of  real  ones,  Hussan  Askuri  could  supply 
them,  like  other  dreams,  at  so  much  a  dozen;  since 
nothing  more  costly  than  the  brocade  bag  came  with 
them.  So  that  the  Mahboob's  face,  as  Treasurer,  grew 
longer  and  longer  over  the  dressmaker's  and  upholster- 
er's bills,  and  the  Court  Journal  was  driven  into  record- 
ing the  fact  that  someone  actually  presented  a  bottle 
of  Faiidaiiiiis  odorafissiiniis,  whatever  that  may  be.  Some 
subtle  essence,  mayhap,  favorable  to  dreaminess;  since, 
in  the  month  of  peace,  drugs  were  necessary  to  prevent 
awakening. 

Especially  when,  on  the  30th  of  ]\Iay.  a  sound  came 
over  the  distant  horizon;  the  sound  of  artillery. 

At  last!  At  last!  Jim  Douglas,  who,  in  sheer  dread 
of  his  own  growing  despair,  had  taken  to  spending  all 
the  time  he  dared  in  moody  silence  on  that  peaceful  roof, 


PEACE  !     PEA CE  !  299 

Started  as  if  he  had  been  shot,  and  was  down  the  stairs 
seeking  news.  The  streets  were  full  of  a  silent,  restless 
crowd,  almost  empty  of  soldiers.  They  had  gone  out 
during  the  night,  he  learned,  Meerutward;  tidings  of 
an  army  on  the  banks  of  the  Hindu  river,  seven  or  eight 
miles  out,  having  been  brought  in  by  scouts. 

At  last!  At  last!  He  wandered  through  the  bazaars 
scarcely  able  to  think,  wondering  only  when  the  army 
could  possibly  arrive,  feeling  a  mad  joy  in  the  anxious 
faces  around  him,  lingering  by  the  groups  of  men  col- 
lected in  every  open  space  simply  for  the  satisfaction  of 
hearing  the  wonder  and  alarm  in  the  words:  "  So  the 
master  lives."' 

He  lived  indeed!  Listen!  That  was  his  voice  over 
the  eastern  horizon!  Kate,  when  he  came  back  to  the 
roof  about  noon,  had  never  seen  him  in  this  mood  before, 
and  wondered  at  his  fire,  his  gayety,  his  youth.  But  the 
recognition  brought  a  dull  pain  with  it,  in  the  thought 
that  this  was  natural  to  the  man ;  that  gloomy  moodiness 
the  result  of  her  presence. 

"  You  are  not  afraid,  surely?  "  he  said  suddenly,  break- 
ing off  in  the  recital  of  some  future  event  which  seemed 
to  him  certain. 

"  No.  I  am  only  glad,"  she  replied  slowly.  "  It  could 
not  have  lasted  much  longer.     It  is  a  great  relief." 

"  Relief,"  he  echoed,  "  I  wonder  if  you  know  the  relief 
it  is  to  me?"  And  then  he  looked  at  her  remorsefully. 
"  I  have  been  an  awful  brute.  Airs.  Erlton,  but  women 
can  scarcely  understand  what  inaction  means  to  a  man." 

Could  they  not?  she  wondered  bitterly  as  he  hastened 
off  again,  leaving  her  to  long  weary  hours  of  waiting; 
till  the  red  flush  of  sunset  on  the  bubble  dome  of  the 
mosque  brought  him  back  with  a  new  look  on  his  face; 
a  look  of  angry  doubt. 

"The  sepoys  are  coming  in  again,"  he  said;  "they 
claim  a  victory — but  that,  of  course,  is  impossible.  Still 
I  don't  understand,  and  it  is  so  difficult  to  get  any  reliable 
information." 

"  You  should  go  out  yourself — I  believe  it  would  be 
best  for  us  both,"  replied  Kate,  "  Tara "    •■ 

He  shook  his  head  impatiently.     "  Not  now.     What 


300  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

is  the  use  of  risking  all  at  the  last.  We  can  only  have 
to  wait  till  to-morrow.  But  I  don't  understand  it,  all  the 
same.  The  sepoys  say  they  surprised  the  camp — that 
the  buglers  were  still  calling  to  arms  when  their  artillery 
opened  fire.  But  so  far  as  I  can  make  out  they  have  lost 
five  guns,  and  from  the  amount  of  bhang  they  are  drink- 
ing, I  believe  it  was  a  rout.  However,  if  you  don't  mind, 
I'll  be  off  again — and — and  don't  be  alarmed  if  I  stay 
out." 

"  I'm  not  in  the  least  alarmed,"  she  replied.  "  As  I 
have  told  you  before,  I  don't  think  it  is  necessary  you 
should  come  here  at  all." 

He  paused  at  the  door  to  glance  back  at  her  half- 
resentfully.  To  be  sure  she  did  not  know  that  he  had 
slept  on  its  threshold  as  a  rule;  but  anyhow,  after  eating 
your  heart  out  over  one  woman's  safety  for  three  weeks, 
it  was  hard  to  be  told  that  you  were  not  wanted.  But, 
thank  Heaven!  the  end  was  at  hand.  And  yet  as  he 
lingered  round  the  watch-fires  he  heard  nothing  but 
boasting,  and  in  more  than  one  of  the  mosques  thanks- 
givings were  being  offered  up;  while  outside  the  walls 
volunteers  to  complete  the  task  so  well  begun  were 
assembling  to  go  forth  with  the  dawn  and  kill  the  few 
remaining  infidels.  Some  drunk  with  bhang,  more  in- 
toxicated by  the  lust  of  blood  which  comes  to  fighting 
races  like  the  Rajpoot  with  the  first  blow.  It  had  come 
to  Soma,  as,  with  fierce  face  seamed  with  tears,  he  told 
the  tale  again  and  again  of  his  chum's  gallant  death. 
How  Davee  Singh,  brother  in  arms,  his  boyhood's  play- 
mate, seeing  some  cowards  of  artillerymen  abandoning 
a  tumbril  full  of  ammunition  to  the  cursed  Mlechchas, 
had  leaped  to  it  like  a  black-buck,  and  with  a  cry  to 
Kali,  Mother  of  Death,  had  fired  his  musket  into  it; 
so  sending  a  dozen  or  more  of  the  hell-doomed  to  their 
place,  and  one  more  brave  Rajpoot  to  Swarga. 

"  Jai!  Jai!  Kali  md  ki  jai!  " 

An  echo  of  the  dead  man's  last  cry  came  from  many 
a  living  one,  as  muskets  were  gripped  tighter  in  the  re- 
solve to  be  no  whit  behind.  A  few  more  such  heroes  and 
the  GoldeirAge  would  come  again;  the  age  of  the  blessed 
Pandava,  who  forgot  the  cause  in  the  quarrel. 


P^ACE  !    PEACE!  3°! 

And  so  for  one  day  more  Jim  Douglas  strained  his 
ears  for  that  distant  thunder  on  the  horizon,  while  the 
people  of  the  town,  becoming  more  accustomed  to  it, 
went  about  their  business,  vaguely  relieved  at  anything 
which  should  keep  the  sepoys'  hands  from  mischief. 

The  red  sunset  glow  was  on  the  mosque  again  when 
he  returned  to  the  little  slip  of  roof  to  find  Kate  working 
away  at  her  grammars  calmly.  The  best  thing  she  could 
do,  since  every  word  she  learned  was  an  additional  safe- 
guard; and  yet  the  man  could  not  help  a  scornful  smile. 

"  It  is  a  rout  this  time,  I  am  sure,"  he  said;  "and  yet 
there  is  no  sign  of  pursuit.  I  cannot  understand  it; 
there  seems  a  Fate  about  it!  " 

"Is  that  anything  new?"  she  asked  wearily,  as  she 
laid  down  her  book,  and  with  the  certain  precision  which 
marked  all  her  actions,  saw  that  the  water  was  really 
boiling  before  she  made  the  tea.  It  was  made  in  a  lota, 
and  drunk  out  of  handleless  basins,  yet  for  all  that  it  was 
Western-made  tea,  strong  and  unspiced,  with  cream  to 
put  to  it  also,  which  she  skimmed  from  a  dish  set  in  cold 
water  in  the  coolest,  darkest  place  she  could  find. 
Dreamlike  indeed,  and  Jim  Douglas,  drinking  his  tea, 
felt,  that  with  his  eyes  shut,  he  might  have  dreamed  him- 
self in  an  English  drawing  room. 

"  Nothing  new,"  he  retorted,  "  but  it  seems  incompre- 
hensible. Hark!  That  is  a  salute;  for  the  victory,  I 
suppose.  Upon  my  soul  I  feel  as  jf — as  if  I  were  a  dream 
myself — as  if  I  should  go  mad!  Don't  look  startled — 
I  shan't.  The  whole  thing  is  a  sham — I  can  see  that. 
But  why  has  no  one  the  pluck  to  give  the  House-of- 
Cards  a  push  and  bring  it  about  their  ears?  And  what 
has  become  of  the  army  at  the  Hindun?  It  took  three 
days  to  march  there  from  !Meerut,  I  hear — not  more  than 
twenty-four  miles.  Xo!  I  cannot  understand  it.  No 
wonder  the  people  say  we  are  all  dead.  I  begin  to  be- 
lieve it  myself." 

He  heard  the  saying  often  enough  certainly  to  bring 
relief  during  the  ist  and  2d  of  June,  when  there  was  no 
more  distant  thunder  on  the  horizon,  and  the  whole  town, 
steeped  and  saturated  with  sunshine,  lay  half-asleep,  the 
soldiers  drowsing  off  the  efifect  of  their  drugs. 


302  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    VVATEkS> 

Dead?  Yea!  the  masters  were  dead,  and  those  who 
had  escaped  were  in  full  retreat  up  the  river;  so  at  least 
said  villagers  coming  in  with  supplies.  But  someone 
else  who  had  come  in  with  supplies  also,  sat  crouched 
up  like  a  grasshopper  on  a  great  pile  of  wool-betasseled 
sacks  in  the  corn  market  and  laughed  creakily.  "  Dead! 
not  they.  As  the  tanda  passed  Karnal  four  days  agone 
the  camping  ground  was  white  as  a  poppy  field  with 
tents,  and  the  soldiers  like  the  flies  buzzing  round  them. 
And  if  folk  want  to  hear  more,  I,  Tiddu  Baharupa-Bun- 
jarah,  can  tell  tales  beyond  the  Cashmere  gate  on  the 
river  island  where  the  bullocks  graze." 

The  creaking  voice  rose  unnecessarily  loud,  and  a  man 
in  the  dress  of  an  Afghan  who  had  been  listening,  his 
back  to  the  speaker,  moved  off  with  a  surprised  smile. 
Tiddu  had  proved  his  vaunted  superiority  in  that  in- 
stance; though  by  what  arts  he  had  penetrated  the  back 
of  a  disguise,  Jim  Douglas  could  not  imagine.  Still 
here  was  news  indeed — news  which  explained  some  of 
the  mystery,  since  the  seeming  retreat  up  the  river  had 
been,  no  doubt,  for  the  purpose  of  joining  forces.  Bvit 
it  was  something  almost  better  than  news — it  was  a 
chance  of  giving  them.  He  had  not  dared,  for  Kate's 
sake,  to  risk  any  confederate  as  yet;  but  here  was  one 
ready  to  hand — a  confederate,  too,  who  would  do  any- 
thing for  money. 

So  that  night  he  sat  in  tamarisk  shadow  on  the  river 
island  talking  in  whispers,  while  the  monotonous  clank 
of  the  bells  hung  on  the  wandering  bullocks  sounded  fit- 
fully, the  flicker  of  the  watchfires  gleamed  here  and  there 
on  the  half-dried  pools  of  water,  the  fireflies  flashed 
among  the  bushes,  and  every  now  and  again  a  rough, 
rude  chant  rose  on  the  still  air. 

"  They  have  been  there  these  ten  days,  Huzoor,"  came 
Tiddu's  indififerent  voice.  "  They  are  waiting  for  the 
siege  train.  Nigh  on  three  thousand  of  them,  and  some 
black  faces  besides." 

Jim  Douglas  gave  an  exclamation  of  sheer  despair. 
To  him,  living  in  the  House-of-Cards,  the  Palace-of- 
Dreams,  such  caution  seemed  unnecessary.  Still,  the 
past  being  irretrievable,  the  present  remained  in  which 


PEACE!    PEACE!  ^o-i, 

by  hook  or  by  crook  to  get  the  letter  he  had  with  him, 
ready  written,  conveyed  to  the  army  at  Kurnal.  And 
Tiddu,  with  fifty  rupees  stowed  away  in  his  waistband, 
being  lavish  of  promise  and  confidence,  there  was  no 
more  to  be  done  save  creep  back  to  the  city,  feeling  as  if 
the  luck  had  turned  at  last. 

But  the  next  morning  he  found  the  Thunbi  Bazaar  in 
a  turmoil  of  talk.  There  were  spies  in  the  city.  A  letter 
had  been  found,  written  in  the  Persian  character,  it  is  true 
but  with  the  devilish  knowledge  of  the  West  in  its  details 
of  likely  spots  for  attack,  the  indecision  of  certain  quar- 
ters in  the  city,  its  general  unpreparedness  for  anything 
like  resistance.  Who  had  written  it?  As  the  day  went 
on  the  camps  were  in  uproar,  the  Palace  invaded,  the 
dream  disturbed  by  denouncings  of  Ahsan-Oolah,  the 
giver  of  composing  draughts — Mahboob  Ali,  the  checker 
of  the  purse  strings;  even  of  Mirza  Moghul,  commander- 
in-chief  himself,  who  might  well  be  eager  to  buy  his 
recognition  as  heir  by  treachery. 

The  net  result  of  the  letter  being  that,  as  Jim  Douglas, 
with  wrath  in  his  heart,  crept  out  at  dusk  to  the  lovv^ 
levels  by  the  Water  Bastion,  intent  on  having  it  out  with 
Tiddu,  he  could  see  gangs  of  sepoys  still  at  work  by 
torchlight  strengthening  the  bridge  defense,  and  had  to 
dodge  a  measuring  party  of  artillerymen  busy  range- 
finding.     His  suggestions  had  been  of  use! 

But  the  old  Bunjarah  took  his  fierce  reproaches  philo- 
sophically. "  'Tis  the  miscreant  Bhungi,"  he  assented 
mournfully.  "  He  is  not  to  be  trusted,  but  Jhungi  hav- 
ing a  tertian  ague,  I  deemed  a  surer  foot  advisable. 
Yet  the  Huzoor  need  not  be  afraid.  Even  the  miscreant 
would  not  betray  his  person;  and  for  the  rest,  the 
Presence  writes  Persian  like  any  court  moonshee." 

The  calm  assumption  that  personal  fear  was  at  the 
bottom  of  his  reproaches,  made  Jim  Douglas  desire  to 
throttle  the  old  man,  and  only  the  certainty  that  he  dare 
not  risk  a  row  prevented  him  from  going  for  the  ill- 
gotten  rupees  at  any  rate.  His  thought,  however, 
seemed  read  by  the  old  rascal,  for  a  lean  protesting  hand, 
holding  a  bag",  flourished  out  of  the  darkness,  and  the 
creaking  voice  said  magnificently: 


3o4  OiV   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATEliS. 

"  Before  Alurri-am  and  the  sacred  neem,  Huzoor,  I 
have  kept  my  bargain.  As  for  Jhungi  or  Bhungi,  did 
I  make  them  that  I  should  know  the  evil  in  them?  But 
if  the  Huzoor  suspects  one  who  holds  his  tongue,  let  the 
bargain  between  us  end." 

His  hearer  could  not  repress  a  smile  at  the  consum- 
mate cunning  of  the  speech.  "  You  can  keep  the  money 
for  the  next  job,"  he  said  briefly;  "  I  haven't  done  with 
you  yet,  you  scoundrel." 

A  grim  chuckle  came  out  of  the  shadows  as  the  hand 
went  back  into  them. 

"  The  Huzoor  need  not  fret  himself,  whatever  happens. 
The  end  is  nigh." 

It  seemed  as  if  it  must  be  with  three  thousand  British 
soldiers  within  sixty  miles  of  Delhi;  or  less,  since  they 
might  have  marched  during  those  live  days.  They 
might  be  at  Delhi  any  moment.  Three  thousand  men! 
Enough  and  to  spare  even  though  in  the  last  few  days  a 
detachment  or  two  of  fresh  mutineers  had  arrived.  Ah ! 
if  the  blow  had  been  struck  sooner.     If — if 

Kate  listened  during  those  first  days  of  June  to  many 
such  wishes,  despairs,  hopes,  from  one  whose  only  solace 
lay  in  words;  since  with  relief  staring  him  in  the  face, 
Jim  Douglas  crushed  down  his  craving  for  action. 
There  was  no  real  need  for  it,  he  told  her;  it  must  involve 
risk,  so  they  must  wait — sleep  and  dream  like  the  city! 

For,  lulled  by  the  delay,  stimulated  to  fresh  fancy  by 
the  newcomers,  the  townspeople  went  on  their  daily 
ro.und  monotonously;  the  sepoys  boasted  and  drank 
bhang.-  And  in  the  Palace,  the  King,  in  new  robes  of 
state  sat  on  his  new-  cushion  and  put  the  sign-manual 
to  such  trifles  as  a  concession  to  a  home-born  slave  that 
he  might  '*  continue,  as  heretofore,  a-tinning  the  royal 
sauce-pans!"  though  Mahboob  All's  face  lengthened  as 
he  doled  out  something  on  account  for  faith  and  finery, 
and  suggested  that  the  army  might  at  least  be  employed 
in  collecting  revenue  somewhere.  But  the  army  grinned 
in  the  commander-in-chief's  face,  scorned  laborious 
days,  and  between  the  seductions  of  the  Thunbi  Bazaar 
gave  peaceful  citizens  what  one  petitioner  against  plun- 
der calls  "  a  foretaste  of  the  Day  of  Judgment." 


PEACE!    PEACE!  3^5 

But  one  soul  in  Delhi  felt  in  every  fiber  of  him  that 
the  Judgment  had  come — that  atonement  must  be  made. 

"  Thou  wilt  kill  thyself  with  prayers  and  fastings  and 
seekings  of  other  folks'  salvations,  Moulvie-sahib,"  said 
Hafzan  almost  petulantly  as,  passing  on  her  rounds,  she 
saw  Mohammed  Ismail's  anxious  face,  seeking  audience 
with  everyone  in  authority,  "  Thou  hast  done  thy  best. 
The  rest  is  with  God;  and  if  these  find  death  also,  the 
blame  will  lie  elsewhere." 

"  But  the  blame  of  those,  woman?  "  he  asked  fiercely, 
pointing  with  trembling  finger  to  the  little  cistern  shaded 
by  the  peepul  tree. 

Hafzan  gave  a  shrill  laugh  as  she  passed  on. 

"  Fear  not  that  either,  learned  one!  This  world's 
atonement  for  that  will  be  sufficient  for  future  pardon." 

It  might  be  so,  Alohammed  Ismail  told  himself  as  he 
hurried  off  feverishly  to  another  appeal.  He  had  erred 
in  ignorance  there;  but  what  of  the  forty  prisoners 
still  at  the  Kotwali — forty  stubborn  Christians  despite 
their  dark  skins?  They  were  safe  so  far,  but  if  the  city 
were  assaulted? — if  some  of  the  fresh,  fiery-faithed  new- 
comers     The  doubt  left  him  no  peace. 

"  If  thou  wilt  swear,  Moulvie-jee,  on  thine  own  eternal 
salvation  that  they  are  Mohammedans,  or  stake  thy  soul 
on  their  conversion,"  jeered  those  who  held  the  keys.  A 
heavy  stake,  that!  A  solemn  oath  with  forty  stubborn 
Christians  to  deal  with.  No  wonder  Mohammed  Ismail 
felt  judgment  upon  him  already. 

But  the  stake  was  staked,  the  oath  spoken  on  the  6th 
of  June.  The  record  of  it  is  brief,  but  it  stands  as  his- 
tory in  the  evidence  of  one  of  the  forty.  "  We  were 
released  in  consequence  of  a  Moulvie  of  the  name  of 
Mohammed  Ismail  giving  evidence  that  we  were  all 
Mohammedan;  or  that  if  any  were  Christian  they  would 
become  Mohammedan." 

And  it  was  given  none  too  soon.  For  on  the  6th  of 
June  as  the  sun  set,  a  silhouette  of  a  man  on  a  horse 
stood  clear  against  the  red-gold  in  the  west,  looking 
down  from  the  Ridge  on  Delhi.  Looking  down  on  the 
city  bathed  in  the  dreamy  glamour  of  the  slanting  sun- 
beams;   rose-red   and   violet-shadowed,   with   the   great 


3o6  OM   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

white  dome  hovering  above  the  smoke  wreaths,  and  a 
glitter  of  gold  on  the  eastern  wall,  where,  backed  by  that 
arcaded  view  of  the  darkening  Eastern  plains,  an  old 
man  sat  listening  to  sentiments  of  fidelity  from  a  pile  of 
little  brocaded  bags. 

It  was  Hodson  of  Hodson's  Horse,  reconnoitering 
ahead.  So  there  was  an  Englishman  on  the  Ridge  once 
more  as  the  paper  kites  came  down  on  the  6th  of  June. 
But  the  fire  balloons  did  not  go  up;  for  the  night  set  in 
gusty  and  wet,  giving  no  chance  to  new  constellations. 

Jim  Douglas  did  not  sleep  at  all  that  night,  for  Tiddu 
had  brought  word  that  the  English  were  at  Alipore,  ten 
miles  out;  and  nothing  but  the  dread  of  needless  risk 
kept  him  in  Delhi.  For  any  risk  was  needless  when  to 
a  certainty  the  English  flag  would  be  flying  over  the  city 
in  a  few  hours. 

And  Hodson  of  Hodson's  Horse  back  at  Alipore  slept 
late,  for  he  lingered,  weary  and  wet  after  his  long  ride, 
to  write  to  his  wife  ere  turning  in,  that  "  if  he  had  had  a 
hundred  of  the  Guides  he  could  have  gone  right  up  to 
the  city  wall." 

But  Mohammed  Ismail  slept  peacefully,  his  work 
being  over,  and  dreamed  of  Paradise. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE    CHALLENGE. 

"  For  Gawd's  sake,  sir!  don't  say  I'm  unfit  for  dooty, 
sir,"  pleaded  a  lad,  who,  as  he  stood  to  attention,  tried 
hard  to  keep  the  sharp  shivers  of  coming  ague  from  the 
doctor's  keen  eyes.  "  I'm  all  right,  aint  I,  mates?  It 
aint  a  bad  sort  o'  fever  at  worst,  as  I  oughter  know, 
havin'  it  constant.  It's  go  ter  hell,  an'  lick  the  blood  up 
fust  as  I'm  fit  for  with  Jack  Pandy.  That's  all  the 
matter — you  see  if  it  aint,  sir!  " 

He  threw  his  fair  curly  head  back,  his  blue  eyes 
blazed  with  the  coming  fever  light,  but  the  bearded 
man  next  to  him  murmured,  "  'Ee's  all  right,  sir.     'Ee'll 


THE   CIIALLEXGE.  3©? 

'old  'is  musket  straight,  never  fear,"  and  the  Doctor 
walked  on  with  a  nod. 

•'  They  killed  his  girl  at  Meerut,"  said  his  company 
officer  in  a  whisper,  and  Herbert  Erlton,  standing  by,  set 
his  teeth  and  glanced  back,  blue  eye  meeting  blue  eye 
with  a  sort  of  triumph. 

For  it  was  the  7th  of  June,  and  the  blow  was  to  be 
struck,  the  challenge  given  at  last. 

Nearly  a  month,  thought  Herbert  Erlton.  since  it  had 
happened.  He  had  spent  much  of  the  time  in  bed,  struck 
dow^n  with  fever;  for  he  had  regained  Meerut  with 
difficulty,  wounded  and  exhausted.  And  then  it  had 
been  too  late — too  late  for  anything  save  to  hang  round 
hungrily  in  the  hopes  of  that  challenge  to  come,  with 
many  another  such  as  he. 

But  it  had  come  at  last.  The  camp  was  ringing  \\\t\\ 
cheers  for  the  final  reinforcement,  every  soul  wdio  could 
stand  was  coming  out  of  hospital,  and  the  air,  new 
washed  with  rain,  and  cool,  seemed  to  put  fresh  life,  and 
with  it  a  desire  to  kill,  into  the  veins  of  every  son  of  the 
cold  North. 

And  now  the  dusk  was  at  hand.  The  men,  half-mad 
with  impatience,  laughed  and  joked  over  each  trivial 
preparation.  Yet,  when  the  order  came  with  midnight, 
weapons  were  never  gripped  more  firmly,  more  sternly, 
than  by  those  three  thousand  Englishmen  marching  to 
their  long-deferred  chance  of  revenge.  And  some,  not 
able  to  march,  toiled  behind  in  hopes  of  one  fair  blow; 
and  not  a  few,  unable  even  for  so  much,  slipped  desper- 
ately from  hospital  beds  to  see  at  least  one  murderer 
meet  with  his  reward. 

For,  to  the  three  thousand  marching  upon  Delhi  that 
cool  dewy  night,  sent — so  they  told  themselves — for 
special  solace  and  succor  of  the  Right,  there  were  but 
two  things  to  be  reckoned  with  in  the  wade  world: 
Themselves — Men.     Those  others— Murderers. 

The  fireflies,  myriad-born  from  the  rain,  glimmered 
giddily  in  the  low  marshy  land,  the  steady  stars  shone 
overhead,  and  Alajor  Erlton  looked  at  both  indifferently 
as  he  rode,  long-limbed  and  heavy,  through  the  night 
whose  soft  silence  was  broken  only  by  the  jingle  of  spurs 


3oS  O.V    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

and  the  squelching  of  Hght  gun-wheels  in  water-logged 
ruts;  save  when — from  a  distance — the  familiar  tramp, 
tramp,  of  disciplined  feet  along  a  road  came  wafted  on  the 
cool  wind;  for  the  column  in  which  he  was  doing  duty 
moved  along  the  canal  bank  so  as  to  take  the  enemy,  who 
held  an  intrenched  position  five  miles  from  Alipore,  in 
flank.  But  Herbert  Erlton  was  not  thinking  of  stars  or 
fireflies;  was  not  thinking  of  anything.  He  was  watching 
for  other  lights,  the  twinkling  cresset  lights  which  w^ould 
tell  where  the  Murderers  waited  for  that  first  blow.  He 
did  not  even  think  of  the  cause  of  his  desire;  he  was 
absorbed  in  the  revenge  itself,  and  a  bitter  ctirse  rose  to 
his  lips,  wiien  just  before  dawn  the  roll  of  a  gun  and  the 
startled  flocks  of  birds  flying  westward  told  him  that 
others  were  before  him. 

"  Hurry  up,  men!  For  God's  sake  hurry  up!  "  The 
entreaty  passed  along  the  line  where  the  troopers  of  the 
9th  Lancers  were  setting  shoulders  to  the  gun-wdieels, 
and  everyone,  men  and  officers  alike,  was  listening  with 
fierce  regret  to  the  continuovis  roll  of  cannon,  the  casual 
rattle  of  musketry,  telling  that  the  heavy  guns  were  bear- 
ing the  brunt  of  it  so  far. 

"Hurry  up,  men!  Hurry  tip.  That's  the  bridge 
ahead !     Then  we  can  go  for  them !  " 

Hark!  A  silence;  if  silence  it  could  be  called,  now 
that  the  shouts,  and  yells,  and  confused  murmur  of  battle 
could  be  heard.  But  the  guns  were  silent;  and  hark 
again.  A  ringing  cheer!  Bayonet  work  that,  at  last, 
at  last!  And  yonder,  behind  the  fireflies  in  the  bushes? 
Surely  men  in  flight!     Hurrah!     Hurrah! 

When  Major  Erlton  returned  from  that  wild  charge 
it  was  to  find  that  one  splendid  rush  from  the  75th  Regi- 
ment had  cleared  the  road  to  Delhi.  The  Murderers 
had  been  sw-ept  from  their  shelter,  their  guns — some 
fighting  desperately,  others  standing  stupidly  to  meet 
death,  and  many  with  clasped  hands  and  vain  protesta- 
tions of  loyalty  on  their  lips  paying  the  debt  of  their  race. 
But  one  man  had  paid  some  other  debt.  Heaven  knows 
what;  and  the  Rifle  Brigade  cleared  the  road  to  Delhi  of 
an  English  deserter  fighting  against  his  old  regiment. 

It  had  not  taken  an  hour;  and  now,  as  the  yellow  sun 


THE   CHALLENGE.  3^9 

peered  over  the  eastern  horizon,  a  little  knot  of  staff 
officers  consulted  what  to  do  next. 

What  to  do?  Herbert  Erlton  and  many  another  won- 
dered stupidly  what  the  deuce  fellows  could  mean  by 
asking  the  c|uestion  when  the  jagged  line  of  the  Ridge 
lay  not  three  miles  off,  and  Delhi  lay  behind  that? 
Could  any  sane  person  think  that  England  had  done 
its  duty  at  sunrise,  even  though  forty  good  men  and  true 
of  the  three  thousand  had  dealt  their  first  and  last  blow? 

But  if  some  did,  there  were  not  many;  so,  after  a 
pause,  the  march  began  again.  Westward,  by  a  forking 
road,  to  the  flat  head  of  the  Lizard  lying  above  the 
Subz-mundi,  eastward  toward  the  tail  and  the  old  canton- 
ment. And  this  time  the  bayonets  went  with  the  jing- 
ling spurs,  and  together  they  cleared  the  green  groves 
merrily.  Still,  even  so,  it  was  barely  nine  o'clock  when 
they  met  the  eastward  column  again  at  Hindoo  Rao's 
house  and  shook  hands  over  their  bloodless  victory. 
For  the  eastward  force  had  lost  one  man,  the  westward 
seven,  despite  the  fact  that  the  retreating  Murderers  had 
attempted  a  rally  in  their  old  lines. 

Nine  o'clock!  In  seven  hours  the  ten  miles  had  been 
marched,  the  battle  of  Budli-ke-serai  won,  and  below 
them  lay  Delhi.  Within  twelve  hundred  yards  rose  the 
JMoree  Bastion,  the  extreme  western  point  of  that  city 
face  which,  with  the  Cashmere  gate  jutting  about  its 
middle  and  the  Water  Bastion  guarding  its  eastern  end, 
must  be  the  natural  target  of  their  valor — a  target  three- 
quarters  of  a  mile  long  by  twenty-four  feet  high. 

Seven  hours!  And  the  Murderers  had  been  driven 
into  the  city,  while  the  men  had  gained  "  twenty-six 
guns  and  the  finest  possible  base  for  the  conduct  of 
future  operations."  For  the  Ridge,  the  old  canton- 
ments were  once  more  echoing  to  the  master's  step,  and 
the  city  folk,  as  they  looked  eagerly  from  the  walls,  had 
the  first  notice  of  defeat  in  the  smoke  and  flames  of  the 
sepoy  lines  which  the  English  soldiers  fired  in  reckless 
revenge;  reckless  because  the  tents  were  not  up,  and 
they  might  at  least  have  been  a  shelter  from  the  sun. 

But  the  Delhi  force,  taken  as  a  whole,  was  in  no  mood 
to  think ;  and  so  perhaps  those  at  the  head  of  it  felt  bound 


3IO  Oy    THE   FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

to  think  the  more.  There  was  Delhi,  undoubtedly,  but 
the  rose-red  walls  with  their  violet  shadows  looked  for- 
midable. And  who  could  tell  how  many  Murderers  it 
harbored?  A  thousand  of  them  or  thereabouts  would 
return  to  Delhi  no  more;  but,  even  so,  if  all  the  regi- 
ments known  to  have  mutinied  and  come  to  Delhi  were 
at  their  full  strength,  the  odds  must  still  be  close  on  four 
to  one.  And  then  there  was  the  rabble,  armed  no  doubt 
from  the  larger  magazine  below  the  Flagstaff  Tower, 
which,  alas,  had  found  no  Willoughby  for  its  destruction 
on  the  nth  of  May.  And  then  there  was  the  May  sun. 
And  then — and  then 

"What's  up?  When  are  we  going  on?"  asked 
Major  Erlton,  sitting  fair  and  square  on  his  horse,  in  the 
shadow  the  big  trees  by  Hindoo  Rao's  house,  as  an 
orderly  officer  rode  past  him. 

"  Aren't  going  on  to-day.  Chief  thinks  it  safer  not — 
these  native  cities " 

He  was  gone,  and  Herbert  Erlton  without  a  word 
threw  himself  heavily  from  his  horse  with  a  clatter  and 
jingle  of  swords  and  scabbards  and  Heaven  knows  what 
of  all  the  panoply  of  war;  so  with  the  bridle  over  his  arm 
stood  looking  out  over  the  bloody  city  which  lay  quiet 
as  the  grave.  Only,  every  now  and  again,  a  white  puff 
of  smoke  followed  by  a  dull  roar  came  from  a  bastion 
like  a  salute  of  w^elcome  to  the  living,  or  a  parting  honor 
to  the  dead. 

Was  it  possible?  His  eyes  followed  the  familiar  out- 
line mechanically  till  they  rested  half-unconsciously  on 
some  ruins  beside  the  city  wall.  Then  with  a  rush  mem- 
ory came  back  to  him,  and  as  he  turned  hurriedly  to 
loosen  his  horse's  girths,  the  tears  seemed  to  scald  his 
tired  angry  eyes.  Yet  it  was  not  the  memory  of  Alice 
Gissing  only,  which  sent  these  unwonted  visitors  to  Her- 
bert Erlton's  eyes;  it  was  a  wild  desperate  pity  and  de- 
spair for  all  w^omen. 

And  as  he  stood  there  ignoring  his  own  emotion,  or 
at  least  hiding  it,  one  of  the  women  whom  he  pitied  was 
looking  up  with  a  certain  resentful  eagerness  at  a  man, 
who,  from  the  corner  turret  of  that  roof  in  the  Mufti's 
quarter,  was  straining  his  eyes  Ridgeways. 


THE   CHALLENGE.  3" 

"  They  must  rest,  surely,"  she  said  sharply;  "  you  can- 
not expect  them  to  be  made  of  iron ";  as  you  are, 

she  was  about  to  add,  but  withheld  even  that  suspicion 
of  praise. 

"Well!  There  goes  the  bugle  to  pitch  tents,  any- 
how," retorted  Jim  Douglas  recklessly.  "  So  I  suppose 
we  had  better  have  our  breakfast  too — coflfee  and  a  rasher 
of  bacon  and  a  boiled  ^^^  or  so.  By  God!  its  incredi- 
ble— it's "     He  flung  himself  on   a   reed   stool  and 

covered  his  face  with  his  hands  for  a  second;  but  he  was 
up  facing  her  the  next.  "  I've  no  right  to  say  these 
things — no  one  knows  better  than  I  how  worse  than  idle 
it  is  to  press  others  to  one's  own  tether — I  learned  that 
lesson  early,  Mrs.  Erlton.  But " — he  gave  a  quick 
gesture  of  impotent  impatience — "  when  the  news  first 
came  in,  the  men  who  brought  it  ran  in  at  the  Cashmere 
and  Moree  gates  in  hundreds,  and  out  at  the  Ajmere 
and  Turkoman,  calling  that  the  masters  had  come 
back;  and  people  were  keeking  round  the  doors  hope- 
fully. I  tell  you  the  very  boys  as  I  came  in  here  were 
talking  of  school  again — of  holiday  tasks,  perhaps — 
Heaven  knows!  People  were  running  in  the  streets — 
they  will  be  walking  now — in  another  hour  they  will  be 
standing;  and  then!  Well!  I  suppose  the  General 
funks  the  sun.  So  I'll  be  ofif.  I  only  came  because  I 
thought  I  had  better  be  here  in  case;  you  see  the  men 
would  have  had  their  blood  up  rushing  the  city " 

"And  your  breakfast?"  she  asked  coldly,  almost 
sarcastically;  for  he  seemed  to  her  so  hard,  so  grudging, 
while  her  sympathies,  her  enthusiasms  were  red-hot  for 
the  newcomers. 

He  laughed  bitterly.  "  I've  learned  to  live  on  parched 
grain  like  a  native,  if  need  be,  and  I  take  opium  too;  so 
I  shall  manage."  He  was  back  again  to  the  turret,  how- 
ever, before  two  o'clock,  curtly  apologetic,  calmer,  yet 
still  eager.  The  people,  to  be  sure,  he  said,  had  given 
up  keeking  round  their  doors  at  every  clatter,  and  the 
gates  had  been  closed  on  deserters  by  the  Palace  folk; 
but  no  one  had  thought  of  bricking  them  up,  and  after 
going  round  everywhere  he  doubted  if  there  were  more 
than  seven  or  eight  thousand  real  soldiers  in  Delhi.     The 


312  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

74th  and  the  nth  regiments  had  been  sHpping  away  for 
days,  and  numbers  of  men  who  had  remained  did  not 
really  mean  to  fight.  Tiddu,  who  seemed  to  know  every- 
thing, said  that  the  mutineers  had  been  very  strongly  in- 
trenched at  Budli-serai,  so  the  resistance  could  not  have 
been  very  dogged,  or  our  troops  could  not  have  fought 
their  way  in  before  nine  o'clock.  Yes!  since  she 
pressed  for  an  answer,  the  General  might  have  been  wise 
in  waiting  for  the  cool.  Only  he  personally  washed  he 
had  thought  it  possible,  for  then  he  would  at  any  rate 
have  tried  to  get  a  letter  sent  to  the  Ridge.  Now  it  was 
too  late. 

And  then  suddenly,  as  he  spoke,  a  fierce  elation 
flashed  to  his  face  again  at  the  sound  of  bugles,  the  roll 
of  a  gun  from  the  Moree  Bastion;  and  he  was  up  the 
stairs  of  the  turret  in  a  second,  casting  a  half-humorous, 
wholly  deprecating  glance  back  at  her. 

"  A  hare  and  a  tortoise  once — I  learned  that  at  school 
— put  it  into  Latin !  "  he  said  lightly,  as  the  walls  round 
them  quivered  to  the  reverberating  rolls,  thundering 
from  the  city  wall. 

Kate  walked  up  and  down  the  roof  restlessly,  passing 
into  the  outer  one  so  as  to  be  further  from  that  eager 
sentinel  and  his  criticisms.  Tara  was  spinning  calmly, 
and  Kate  wondered  if  the  woman  could  be  alive.  Did 
she  not  know  that  brave  men  on  both  sides  w^ere  going 
to  their  deaths?  And  Tara,  from  under  her  heavy  eye- 
lashes, watched  Kate,  and  w^ondered  how  any  woman 
who  had  brought  Life  into  the  world  could  fear  Death. 
Did  not  the  Great  Wheel  spin  unceasingly?  Let  brave 
men,  then,  die  bravely — even  Soma.  For  she  knew  by 
this  time  that  her  brother  was  in  Delhi,  and  by  the  mas- 
ter's orders  had  dodged  his  detection  more  than  once. 
So  the  two  women  waited,  each  after  their  nature;  while 
like  the  pulse  of  time  itself,  the  beat  of  artillery  shook 
the  walls.  It  came  so  regularly  that  Kate,  crouching  in 
a  corner  weary  of  restless  pacing  to  and  fro,  grew  almost 
drowsy  and  started  at  a  step  beside  her. 

"  A  false  alarm,"  said  Jim  Douglas  quietly;  "a  sortie, 
as  far  as  I  could  judge,  from  the  Aloree;  easily  driven 
back." 


THE   CrrALLENGE.  I'^l 

His  tone  roused  her  antagonism  instantly.  "  Perhaps 
they  are  waiting  for  night." 

"  There  is  a  full  moon — almost,"  he  replied;  "  besides, 
there  is  fair  cover  up  to  within  four  hundred  yards  of  the 
Cabul  gate.  They  could  rush  that,  and  a  bag  or  two  of 
gunpowder  would  finish  the  business." 

"  They  could  do  that  as  well  to-morrow,"  she  re- 
marked hotly. 

"  I  hope  to  God  they  won't  be  such  fools  as  to  try  it!  " 
he  replied  as  hotly.  "  If  they  don't  come  in  to-night 
they  will  have  to  batter  dow-n  the  walls,  and  then  the 
city  will  go  against  them.  What  city  wouldn't?  It  will 
rouse  memories  we  can't  afford  to  rouse.  Who  could? 
And  every  wounded  man  who  creeps  in  to-day  will  be  a 
center  of  resistance  by  to-morrow.  The  women  will 
hound  others  on  to  protect  him.  It  is  their  way.  You 
have  always  to  allow  for  humanity  in  war.  Well!  we 
must  wait  and  see."  He  paused  and  rubbed  his  fore- 
head vexedly.     "  If  I  had  known,  I  might  have  got  out 

with  the   sortie;  but   I    suppose   I    couldn't   really " 

He  paused,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  went  out. 

And  Kate,  as  she  sat  watching  the  red  flush  of  sun- 
set grow  to  the  dome,  remembered  his  look  at  her  with 
a  half-angry  pang.  Why  should  she  be  in  this  man's 
way  always?  So  the  day  died  away  in  soft  silence,  and 
there  on  the  housetop  it  seemed  incredible  that  so  much 
hung  in  the  balance,  and  that  down  in  the  streets  the 
crow^ds  must  be  drifting  to  and  fro  restlessly.  At  least 
she  supposed  so.  Yet,  monotonous  as  ever,  there  was 
the  evening  cry  of  the  muezzin  and  the  persistent  thrum- 
ming of  toms-toms  and  saringis  which  evening  brings 
to  a  native  city.  It  rose  louder  than  usual  from  a  roof 
hard  by,  where,  so  Tara  told  her,  a  princess  of  the  blood 
royal  lived;  a  great  friend  of  Abool-Bukr's.  The  re- 
membrance of  little  Sonny's  hands  all  red  with  blood, 
and  the  cruel  face  smiling  over  an  apology,  made  her 
shiver,  and  wonder  as  she  often  did  with  a  desperate 
craving  what  the  child's  fate  had  been.  Why  had  she 
let  the  old  ayah  take  him?  Why  was  he  not  here,  safe; 
making  life  bearable?  As  she  sat,  the  tears  falling 
quietly  over  her  cheeks,  Tara  came  and  looked  at  her 


314  O.V    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

curiously.  "  The  mem  should  not  cry,"  she  said  con- 
solingly.    "  The  Huzoor  will  save  her  somehow." 

For  an  instant  Kate  felt  as  if  she  would  rather  he  did 
not.  Then  on  the  distance  and  the  darkening  air  came 
a  familiar  sound:  the  evening  bugle  from  the  Ridge 
with  its  cheerful  invitation : 

"  Come  -  and  -  set -a- picket-boys!  come  -  and  -  keep  - 
a -watch." 

So  someone  else  was  within  hail,  ready  to  help!  The 
knowledge  brought  her  a  vast  consolation,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  that  environment  she  slept  through 
the  night  without  wakening  in  deadly  dreamy  fear  at  the 
least  sound. 

Even  the  uproarious  devilry  of  Prince  Abool  in  the 
alley  below  did  not  rouse  her,  when  about  midnight  he 
broke  loose  from  the  feverish  detaining  hold  which 
Newasi  had  kept  on  him  by  every  art  of  her  power  during 
the  day,  lest  the  master  returning  should  find  the  Prince 
in  mischief.  But  now  he  lurched  away  with  a  party  of 
young  bloods  who  had  come  to  fetch  him,  swearing  that 
he  must  celebrate  the  victory  properly.  But  for  a  mo- 
ment's weakness,  fostered  by  a  foolish,  fearful  woman, 
he  might  have  led  the  cavalry.  He  w^ept  maudlin  tears 
over  the  thought,  swearing  he  would  yet  show  his  mettle. 
He  would  not  leave  one  hell-doomed  alive;  and,  suit- 
ing the  action  to  the  word,  he  began  incontinently  to 
search  for  fugitives  in  some  open  cow}'ards  close  by,  till 
the  strapping  dairymaids,  roused  from  slumber,  declared 
in  revenge  that  they  had  seen  a  man  slip  down  the  culvert 
of  the  big  drain.  Five  minutes  afterward  Prince  Abool, 
half-choked,  half-drowned,  was  dragged  from  the  sewer 
by  his  comrades,  protesting  feebly  that  he  must  have 
killed  an  infidel;  else  whv  did  the  blood  smell  so  hor- 
ribly? 

But  after  that  the  city  sank  into  the  soundlessness,  the 
stillness,  of  the  hour  before  dawn,  save  for  a  recurring 
call  of  the  watch  bugles  on  wall  and  Ridge  and  the 
twinkling  lights  which  burned  all  night  in  camp  and 
court.  For  those  two  had  challenged  each  other,  and 
the  fight  was  to  the  bitter  end.     What  else  could  it  be 


THE    CHALLEiYGE.  3x5 

with  a  death-pledge  between  them?  The  townspeople 
might  sleep  uncertain  which  side  they  would  espouse,  but 
between  the  Men  and  the  Murderers  the  issue  was  clear. 

And  it  remained  so,  even  though  the  month-of-miracle 
lingered,  and  no  assault  came  on  the  morrow,  or  the  day 
after,  or  the  day  after  that.  So  that  the  old  King  himself 
set  his  back  to  the  wall  and  for  once  spoke  as  a  King 
should.  "  If  the  army  will  not  fight  without  pay,  punish 
it,"  he  said  to  the  Commander-in-chief.  But  it  was  only 
a  flash  in  the  pan,  and  he  retired  once  more  to  the  lat- 
ticed marble  balcony  and  set  the  sign-manual  to  a 
general  fiat  that  "  those  who  would  be  satisfied  with  a 
trifle  might  be  paid  something."  Whereat  Mahboob  Ali 
shook  his  head,  for  there  was  not  even  a  trifle  in  the 
privy  purse. 

As  for  the  city  people,  their  ears  and  tongues  grew 
longer  during  those  three  days,  when  the  sepoys,  return- 
ing from  the  sorties  and  skirmishes,  brought  back  tales 
of  glorious  victory,  stupendous  slaughter.  Her  man 
had  killed  fifteen  Huzoors  himself,  and  there  were  not 
five  hundred  left  on  the  Ridge,  said  Futteh-deen's  wife 
to  Pera-Khan's  as  they  gossiped  at  the  wall;  and  a  good 
job  too.  When  they  were  gone  there  would  be  an  end 
of  these  sword  cuts  and  bullet  wounds.  Xot  a  wink  of 
sleep  had  she  had  for  nights,  yawned  Zainub,  what  with 
thirsts  and  poultices!  And  on  the  steps  of  the  mosque, 
too,  the  learned  lingered  to  discuss  the  newspapers.  So 
Bukht  Khan  with  fifty  thousand  men  was  on  his  way 
to  swear  allegiance,  and  the  Shah  of  Persia  had  sacked 
Lahore,  where  Jan  Larnce  himself  had  been  caught  try- 
ing to  escape  on  an  elephant  and  identified  by  wounds 
on  his  back.  And  the  London  correspondent  of  the 
Authentic  N'czcs  was  no  doubt  right  in  saying  the  Queen 
was  dumfoundered,  while  the  St.  Petersburg  one  was 
clearly  correct  in  asserting  that  the  Czar  was  about  to 
put  on  his  crown  at  last.  Why  not,  since  his  vow 
was  at  an  end  with  the  passing  of  India  from  British 
supremacy? 

So  the  dream  went  on;  the  little  brocaded  bags  kept 
coming   in;  the   stupendous   slaughter   continued.     Yet 


3l6  ON    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

every  night  tl;e  Widow's  Cruse  of  a  Ridge  echoed  to  the 
picket  bugles,  and  the  court  and  the  camp  twinkled  at 
each  other  till  dawn. 

A  sort  of  vexed  despairing  patience  came  to  Jim 
Douglas,  and  more  than  once  he  apologized  to  Kate  for 
his  moodiness,  like  a  patient  who  apologizes  to  his  nurse 
when  unfavorable  symptoms  set  in.  He  gave  her  what 
news  he  could  glean,  which  was  not  much,  for  Tiddu  had 
gone  south  for  another  consignment  of  grain.  But  on 
the  morning  of  the  12th  he  turned  up  with  a  face  clearer 
than  it  had  been,  and  a  friendlier  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  The  guides  came  in  to  camp  yesterday.  Splendid 
fellows.  They  were  at  it  hammer  and  tongs  immedi- 
ately, though  that  man  Rujjub  AH  I  told  you  of — it  was 
he  who  said  Hodson  was  with  the  force — declares  they 
marched  from  Murdan  in  twenty-one  days.  Over  thirty 
miles  a  day!  Well!  they  looked  like  it.  I  saw  them 
ride  slap  up  to  the  Cabul  gate.  And — and  I  saw  some- 
one else  with  them,  Mrs.  Erlton.  I  wasn't  sure  at  first 
if  I  had' better  tell  you;  but  I  think  I  had.  I  saw  your 
husband." 

,*'/My  husband,"  she  echoed  faintly.  In  truth  the  past 
seemed  to  have  slipped  from  her.  She  seemed  to  h?ve 
forgotten  so  much;  and  then  suddenly  she  remembered 
that  the  letter  he  had  written  must  still  be  in  the  pocket 
of  the  dress  Tara  had  hidden  away.  How  strange !  She 
must  find  it,  and  look  at  it  again. 

Jim  Douglas  watched  her  curiously  with  a  quick 
recognition  of  his  own  rough  touch.  Yet  it  could  not 
be  helped. 

"  Yes.     He   was  looking   splendid,   doing   splendidly. 

I  couldn't  help  wishing Well!     I  wish  you  could 

have  seen  him;  you  would  have  been  proud." 
■    She    interrupted    him    with    swift,    appealing    hand. 
t'tOh! — don't — please  don't — what  have  I  to  do  with  it? 
.Can't  you  see — can't  you  understand  he  was  thinking 
[of — of  her — and  doesn't  she  deserve  it?  while  I — I " 

It  was  the  first  breakdown  he  had  seen  during  those 
)ng  weeks  of  strain,  and  he  stood  absolutely,  wholly 

)mpassionate  before  it. 

"  My  dear  lady,"  he  said  gently,  as  he  walked  away  to 


THE    CHALLENGE.  3' 7 

give  her  time,  "  if  you  good  women  would  only  recog- 
nize the  fact  which  worse  ones  do,  that  most  men  think 
of  many  women  in  their  lives,  you  would  be  happier. 
But  I  doubt  if  Major  Erlton  was  thinking  of  anyone  in 
particular.  He  was  thinking  of  the  dead,  and  you  are 
among  them,  for  him;  remember  that.  Come,"  he 
continued,  crossing  over  to  her  again  and  holding  out 
his  hand.  "  Cheer  up!  Aren't  you  always  telling  me  it 
is  bad  for  a  man  to  have  one  woman  on  the  brain,  and 
think,  think  how  many  there  may  be  to  avenge  by  this 
time!  " 

His  voice,  sounding  a  whole  gamut  of  emotion,  a 
whole  cadence  of  consolation,  seemed  to  find  an  echo  in 
her  heart,  and  she  looked  up  at  him  gratefully. 

It  would  have  found  one  also  in  most  hearts  upon  the 
Ridge,  where  men  were  beginning  to  think  with  a  sort 
of  mad  fury  of  women  and  children  in  a  hundred  places 
to  which  this  unchecked  conflagration  of  mutiny  was 
spreading  swiftly.  What  would  become  of  Lucknow, 
Cawnpore,  Agra,  if  something  were  not  done  at  Delhi? 
if  the  challenge  so  well  given  were  not  followed  up? 
And  men  elsewhere  telegraphed  the  same  question,  until, 
half-heartedly,  the  General  listened,  and  finally  gave  a 
grudging  assent  to  a  plan  of  assault  urged  by  four  sub- 
alterns. 

What  the  details  were  matters  little.  A  bag  of  gun- 
powder somewhere,  with  fixed  bayonets  to  follow.  A 
gamester's  throw  for  sixes  or  deuce-ace,  so  said  even  its 
supporters.  But  anything  seemed  better  than  being  a 
target  for  artillery  practice  five  times  better  than  their 
own,  while  the  mutiny  spread  around  them. 

The  secret  was  well  kept  as  such  secrets  must  be. 
Still  the  afternoon  of  the  12th  saw  a  vague  stir  on  the 
Ridge,  and  though  even  the  fighting  men  turned  in  to 
sleep,  each  man  knew  what  the  midnight  order  meant 
which  sent  him  fumbling  hurriedly  with  belts  and  buckles. 

"  The  city  at  last,  mates!  No  more  playin'  ball,"  they 
said  to  each  other  as  they  fell  in,  and  stood  waiting  the 
next  order  under  the  stars;  waiting  with  growing  im- 
patience as  the  minutes  slipped  by. 

"  Mv  God!  where  is  Graves?"  fumed  Hodson.     "We 


3l8  O.V    THE  FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

can't  go  on  without  him  and  his  three  hundred.  Ride, 
someone,  and  see.  The  explosion  party  is  ready,  the 
Rifles  safe  within  three  hundred  yards  of  the  wall.  The 
dawn  will  be  on  us  in  no  time — ride  sharp!  " 

"  Something  has  gone  wrong,"  whispered  a  comrade. 
"  There  were  lights  in  the  General's  tent  and  two  mounted 
officers — there!     I  thought  so!     It's  all  up!  " 

All  up  indeed!  For  the  bugle  which  rang  out  was 
the  retreat.  Some  of  those  who  heard  it  remembered  a 
moonlight  night  just  a  month  before  when  it  had  echoed 
over  the  Meerut  parade  ground;  and  if  muttered  curses 
could  have  silenced  it  the  bugle  would  have  sounded  in 
vain.  But  they  could  not,  and  so  the  men  went  back 
sulkily,  despondently  to  bed.  Back  to  inaction,  back  to 
target  practice. 

"  Graves  says  he  misunderstood  the  verbal  orders,  so 
I  understand,"  palliated  a  stafif-officer  in  a  mess  tent 
whither  others  drifted  to  find  solace  from  the  chill  of  dis- 
appointment, the  heat  of  anger.  A  tall  man  with  hawk's 
eyes  and  sparse  red  hair  paused  for  a  moment  ere  pass- 
ing out  into  the  night  again.  "  I  dislike  euphemisms," 
he  said  curtly.  "  In  these  days  I  prefer  to  call  a  spade  a 
spade.     Then  you  can  tell  what  you  have  to  trust  to." 

"  Hodson's  in  a  towering  temper,"  said  an  artillery- 
man as  he  watched  a  native  servant  thirstily;  "  I  don't 
wonder.     Well!  here's  to  better  luck  next  time." 

"  I  don't  believe  there  will  be  a  next  time."  echoed  a 
lad  gloomily.  And  there  was  not,  for  him,  the  target 
practice  settling  that  point  definitely  next  day. 

"  But    why    the    devil    couldn't "    began    another 

vexed   voice,   then   pavised.     "Ah!    here   comes    Erlton 

from  the  General.     He'll  know.     I  say,  ]\Iajor "  he 

broke  off  aghast. 

"  Have  a  glass  of  something,  Erlton?  "  put  in  a  senior 
liastily,  "  you  look  as  if  you  had  seen  a  ghost,  man!  " 

The  ]\Iajor  gave  an  odd  hollow  laugh.  '*  The  other  way 
on — I  mean — I — I  can't  believe  it — but  my  wife — she — 
she's  alive — she's  in  Delhi."  The  startled  faces  around 
seemed  too  much  for  him;  he  sat  down  hurriedly  and  hid 
his  face  in  his  hands,  only  to  look  up  in  a  second  more 

collectedly.     "  It  has  brought  the  whole  d d  business 

liome,  somehow,  to  have  her  there." 


THE   CHALLENGE.  3^9 

"  But  how?  "  the  eager  voices  got  so  far — no  further. 

"  I  nearly  shot  him — should  have  if  he  had  not  ducked, 
for  the  get  up  was  perfect.  Some  of  you  may  know  the 
man — Douglas — Greyman — a  trainer  chap,  but  my  God! 
a  well  plucked  one.  He  sneaked  into  my  tent  to  tell. 
But  I  don't  understand  it  yet,  and  he  said  he  would  come 
back  and  arrange.  It  was  all  so  hurried,  you  see;  I  was 
due  at  the  muster,  and  he  was  off  when  he  heard  what  was 
up  to  see  Graves — whom  he  knows.  Oh,  curse  the 
whole  lot  of  them!  Here,  khansaman!  brandy — 
anything!  " 

He  gulped  it  down  fiercely,  for  he  had  heard  of  more 
than  life  from  Jim  Douglas. 

The  latter,  meanwhile,  was  racing  down  a  ravine  as  his 
shortest  way  back  to  the  city.  His  getting  out  had  been 
the  merest  chance,  depending  on  his  finding  Soma  as 
sentry  at  the  sally  port  of  the  ruined  magazine.  He  had 
instantly  risked  the  danger  of  another  confederate  for  the 
opportunity,  and  he  was  just  telling  himself  with  a  tri- 
umph of  gladness  that  he  had  been  right,  when  a  curi- 
ous sound  like  the  rustling  of  dry  leaves  at  his  very  feet, 
made  him  spring  into  the  air  and  cross  the  flat  shelf  of 
rock  he  was  passing  at  a  bound;  for  he  knew  what  the 
noise  meant.  A  true  lover's  knot  of  deadly  viper,  angry 
at  intrusion,  lay  there;  the  dry  Ridge  swarms  with  them. 
But,  as  he  came  down  lightly  on  his  feet  again,  some- 
thing slipped  from  under  one,  and  though  he  did  not  fail, 
he  knew  in  a  second  that  he  was  crippled.  Break  or 
sprain,  he  knew  instantly  that  he  could  not  hope  to  reach 
the  sally-port  before  Soma's  watch  was  up.  Yet  get  back 
he  must  to  the  city;  for  this — he  had  tried  a  step  by  this 
time  with  the  aid  of  a  projecting  rock — might  make  it 
impossible  for  him  to  return  for  days  if  he  did  the  easiest 
thing  and  crawled  upward  again  hands  and  knees.  That, 
then,  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  The  Ajmere  gate,  how- 
ever, might  be  open  for  traf^c;  the  Delhi  one  certainly 
was,  morning  and  evening.  The  latter  meant  a  round  of 
nearly  four  miles,  and  endless  danger  of  discovery;  but 
it  must  be  done.     So  he  set  his  face  westward. 

It  was  just  twenty-four  hours  after  this,  that  Tara, 
unable  for  longer  patience,  told  Kate  that  she  must  lock 


320  O.V    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

herself  in,  while  she  went  out  to  seek  news  of  the  master. 
Something  must  have  happened.  It  was  thirty-six 
hours  since  they  had  seen  him,  and  if  he  was  gone,  that 
was  an  end. 

Her  face  as  she  spoke  was  fierce,  but  Kate  did  not 
seem  to  care;  she  had,  in  truth,  almost  ceased  to  care  for 
her  own  safety  except  for  the  sake  of  the  man  who  had 
taken  so  much  trouble  about  it.  So  she  sat  down  quietly, 
resolved  to  open  the  locked  door  no  more.  They  might 
break  it  in  if  they  chose,  or  she  could  starve.  What  did 
it  matter? 

Tara  meanwhile  went,  naturally,  to  seek  Soma's  aid, 
all  other  considerations  fading  before  the  master's  safety; 
and  so  of  course  came  instantly  on  the  clew  she  sought. 
He  had  left  the  city,  let  out  by  Soma's  own  hands;  hands 
which  had  never  meant  to  let  him  in  again,  that  being  a 
different  affair.  And  though  he  had  said  he  would 
return,  why  should  he?  asked  Soma.  Whereupon 
Tara,  to  prove  her  ground  for  fear,  told  of  the  hidden 
mem.  She  would  have  told  anything  for  the  sake  of  the 
master.  And  Soma  looked  at  her  fierce  face  apprehen- 
sively. 

"That  is  for  after!"  she  said  curtly,  impatiently. 
"  Now  we  must  make  sure  he  is  not  wounded.  There 
was  fighting  to-day.  Come,  thou  canst  give  the  pass- 
word and  we  can  search  before  dawn  if  we  take  a  light. 
That  is  the  first  thing."' 

But  as,  cresset  in  hand,  Tara  stooped  over  many  a 
huddled  heap  or  long,  still  stretch  of  limb,  Kate,  with  a 
beating  heart,  w^as  listening  to  the  sound  of  someone  on 
the  stairs.  The  next  moment  she  had  flung  the  door 
wide  at  the  first  hint  of  the  first  familiar  knock. 

"Where  is  Tara?"  asked  Jim  Douglas  peremptorily, 
still  holding  to  the  door  jamb  for  support. 

"  She  went— to  look  for  you — we  thought — what  has 
happened? — what  is  the  matter?  "  she  faltered. 

"  Fool!  as  if  that  would  do  any  good!  Nothing's  the 
matter,  Mrs.  Erlton.  I  hurt  my  ankle,  that's  all."  He 
tried  to  step  over  the  threshold  as  he  spoke,  but  even  that 
short  pause,  from  sheer  dogged  eft'ort,  had  made  its  re- 
newal an  agony,  and  he  put  out  his  hand  to  her  blindly. 


rilR    CHALLENGE.  3^1 

"  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  help  me,"  he  began,  then 
paused.  Her  arm  was  round  him  in  a  second,  but  he 
stood  still,  looking  up  at  her  curiously,  "  To — to  help," 
he  repeated.  Then  she  had  to  drag  him  forward  by  main 
force  so  that  he  might  fall  clear  of  the  door  and  enable 
her  to  close  it  swiftly.  For  who  could  tell  what  lay 
behind  ? 

One  thing  was  certain.  That  hand  on  her  arm  had 
almost  scorched  her — the  ankle  he  had  spoken  of  must 
have  been  agony  to  move.  Yet  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done  save  lay  cold  water  to  it,  and  to  his  burning  head, 
settle  him  as  best  she  could  on  a  pillow  and  quilt  as  he 
lay,  and  then  sit  beside  him  waiting  for  Tara  to  return; 
for  Tara  could  bring  what  was  wanted.  But  if  Tara  was 
never  to  return?  Kate  sat,  listening  to  the  heavy  breath- 
ing, broken  by  half-delirious  moans,  and  changing  the 
cool  cloths,  while  the  stars  dipped  and  the  gray  of  dawn 
grew  to  that  dominant  bubble  of  the  mosque;  and,  as  she 
sat,  a  thousand  wild  schemes  to  help  this  man,  who  had 
helped  her  for  so  long,  passed  through  her  brain,  filling 
her  with  a  certain  gladness. 

Until  in  the  early  dawn  Tara's  voice,  calling  on  her, 
stole  through  the  door. 

It  was  still  so  dark  that  Kate,  opening  it  with  the  quick 
cry — "  He  is  here,  Tara,  he  is  here  safe,"  did  not  see  the 
tall  figure  standing  behind  the  woman's,  did  not  see  the 
menace  of  either  face,  did  not  see  Tara's  quick  thrust  of 
a  hand  backward  as  if  to  check  someone  behind. 

So  she  never  knew  that  Jim  Douglas,  helpless,  uncon- 
scious, had  yet  stepped  once  more  between  her  and 
death;  for  Tara  was  on  her  knees  beside  the  prostrate 
figure  in  a  second,  and  Soma,  closing  the  door  carefully, 
salaamed  to  Kate  with  a  look  of  relief  in  his  handsome 
face.  This  settled  the  doubtful  duty  of  denouncing  the 
hidden  Allechchas.  How  could  that  be  done  in  a  house 
where  the  master  lay  sick? 

And  he  lay  sick  for  days  and  weeks,  fighting  against 
sun-fever  and  inflammation,  against  the  general  strain  of 
that  month  of  inaction,  which,  as  Kate  found  with  a  pulse 
of  soft  pity,  had  sprinkled  the  hair  about  his  temples  with 
gray. 


322  oy    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

"  He  would  die  for  her,"  said  Tara  gloomily,  grudg- 
ingly, "  so  she  must  live.  Soma " 

"  Nay!  'twas  not  I "  began  her  brother,  then  held 

his  peace,  doubtful  if  the  disavowal  was  to  his  praise  or 
blame;  for  duty  was  a  puzzle  to  most  folk  in  those  hot, 
lingering  days  of  June,  when  the  Ridge  and  the  City 
skirmished  with  each  other  and  wondered  mutually  if 
anything  were  gained  by  it.  Yet  both  Men  and  Murder- 
ers were  cheerful,  and  Alajor  Erlton  going  to  see  the  hos- 
pital after  that  fifteen  hours'  fight  of  the  23d  of  June, 
when  the  centenary  of  Plassey,  a  Hindoo  fast  and  a 
Mohammedan  festival,  made  the  sepoys  come  out  to  cer- 
tain victory  in  full  parade  uniform,  with  all  their  medals 
on,  heard  the  lad  whose  girl  had  been  killed  at  Meerut 
say  in  an  aggrieved  tone,  "  And  the  nigger  as  stuck  me 

'ad  'er  Majesty's  scarlet  coatee  on  'is  d d  carcass,  and 

a  'eap  of  medals  she  give  him  a-blazin'  on  his  breast — 
dash  'is  impudence." 

So  blue  eye  met  blue  eye  again  sympathetically,  for 
that  was  no  time  to  see  the  pathos  of  the  story. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BUGLES   AND    FIFES. 

There  was  a  blessed  coolness  in  the  air,  for  the  rains 
had  broken,  the  molten  heats  of  June  had  passed.  And 
still  that  handful  of  obstinate  aliens  clung  like  barnacles 
to  the  bare  red  rocks  of  the  Ridge.  Clung  all  the  closer 
because  in  one  corner  of  it,  beside  the  canal,  they  had  be- 
come part  of  the  soil  itself  in  rows  on  rows  of  new-made 
graves.  A  strong  rear-guard  this,  what  with  disease 
and  exposure  superadded  to  skirmishes  and  target-prac- 
tice. Yet.  though  not  a  gun  in  the  city  had  been 
silenced,  not  a  battery  advanced  a  yard,  the  living  garri- 
son day  after  day  dug  these  earthworks  for  the  dead  one, 
firm  as  it,  in  silent  resolve  to  yield  no  inch  of  foot- 
hold on  those  rocks  till  the  Judgment  Day,  when  Men 
and  Murderers  should  pass  together  to  tlip  great  settle- 
ment of  this  world's  quarrels. 


BUGLES  AND  FIFES.  3^3 

And  yet  those  in  command  began  to  look  at  each 
other,  and  ask  what  the  end  was  to  be,  for  though, 
despite  the  daily  drain,  the  Widow's  Cruse  grew  in  num- 
bers as  time  went  on,  the  city  grew  also,  portentously. 

Still  the  men  were  cheerful,  the  Ridge  strangely  unlike 
a  war-camp  in  some  ways;  for  the  country  to  the  rear  was 
peaceful,  posts  came  every  day,  and  there  was  no  lack 
even  of  luxuries.  Grain  mercliants  deserting  their  city 
shops  set  up  amid  the  surer  payments  of  the  cantonment 
bazaar,  and  the  greed  for  gain  brought  hawkers  of  fruit, 
milk,  and  vegetables  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  the  guns,  while 
some  poor  folk  living  on  their  wits,  when  there  was  not  a 
rag  or  a  patch  or  a  bit  of  wood  left  to  be  looted  in  the  de- 
serted bungalows,  took  to  earning  pennies  by  tracking 
the  big  shot  as  they  trundled  in  the  ravines,  and  bringing 
them  to  the  masters,  who  needed  them. 

Between  the  rain-showers  too,  men,  after  the  manner 
of  Englishmen,  began  to  talk  of  football  matches,  sky 
races,  and  bewail  the  fact  of  the  racket  court  being  within 
range  of  the  walls.  But  some,  like  Major  Reid,  who 
never  left  his  post  at  Hindoo  Rao's  house  for  three 
months,  preferred  to  face  the  city  always.  To  watch  it 
as  a  cat  watches  a  mouse  to  which  she  means  to  deal 
death  by  and  by.  Herbert  Erlton  was  one  of  these,  and 
so  his  old  khansaman,  with  whom  Kate  used  to  quarrel 
over  his  terribly  Oriental  ideas  of  Irish  stew  and  such 
like — would  bring  him  his  lunch,,  sometimes  his  dinner, 
to  the  pickets.  It  was  quite  a  dignified  procession,  with 
a  cook-boy  carrying  a  brazier,  so  that  the  Huzoor's 
food  should  be  hot.  and  the  bhisti  carrying  a  porous  pot 
of  water  holding  bottles,  so  that  the  Huzoor's  drink 
might  be  cool.  The  khansaman,  a  wizened  figure  with 
many  yards  of  waistband  swathed  round  his  middle,  lead- 
ing the  way  with  the  mint  sauce  for  the  lamb,  or  the 
mustard  for  the  beefsteak.  He  used  at  first  to  mumble 
charms  and  vows  for  safe  passage  as  he  crossed  the  val- 
ley of  the  shadow;  as  a  dip  where  round  shot  loved  to 
dance  was  nicknamed  by  the  men.  But  so  many  others 
of  his  trade  were  bringing  food  to  the  master  that  he 
soon  grew  callous  to  the  danger,  and  grinned  like  the 
rest  when  a  wild  caper  to  dodge  a  trundling,  thundering 


324  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

ball  made  a  fair-haired  laddie  remark  sardonically  to  the 
caperer,  "  It's  well  for  you,  my  boy,  that  you  haven't 
spilled  my  dinner." 

Perhaps  it  was,  considering  the  temper  of  the  times. 
Herbert  Erlton,  eating  his  lunch,  sheltered  from  the  pelt- 
ing rain  behind  the  low  scarp  which  by  this  time  scored 
the  summit  of  the  Ridge,  smiled  also.  He  was  all  grimed 
and  smirched  with  helping  young  Light — the  gayest 
dancer  in  Upper  India — with  his  guns.  He  helped  wher- 
ever he  could  in  his  spare  time,  for  a  great  restlessness 
came  over  him  when  out  of  sight  of  those  rose-red  walls. 
They  had  a  fascination  for  him  since  Jim  Douglas'  fail- 
ure to  return  had  left  him  uncertain  what  they  held.  So, 
when  the  day's  work  slackened,  as  it  always  did  toward 
sunset,  and  the  rain  clearing,  he  had  drifted  back  to  his 
tent  for  a  bath  and  a  change,  he  drifted  out  again  along 
the  central  road,  where  those  ofT  duty  were  lounging, 
and  the  sick  had  their  beds  set  out  for  the  sake  of  com- 
pany and  cooler  air.  It  was  a  quieter  company  than 
usual,  for  some  two  days  before  the  General  himself  had 
joined  the  rear-guard  by  the  canal;  struck  down  by 
cholera,  and  dying  with  the  half-conscious,  wholly 
pathetic  words  on  his  lips,  "  strengthen  the  right." 

And  that  very  day  the  auctions  of  his  and  other  dead 
comrades'  effects  had  been  held;  so  that  more  than  one 
usually  thoughtless  youngster  looked  down,  maybe,  on 
a  pair  of  shoes  into  which  he  had  stepped  over  a  grave. 

Still  it  was  an  eager  company,  as  it  discussed  Lieu- 
tenant Hills'  exploit  of  the  morning,  and  asked  for  the 
latest  bulletin  of  that  reckless  young  fighter  with  fists 
against  the  swords. 

"  How  was  it? "  asked  the  IMajor,  "  I  only  heard  the 
row.     The  beggars  must  have  got  clean  into  camp." 

"  Right  up  to  the  artillery  lines.  You  see  it  was  so 
beastly  misty  and  rainy,  and  they  were  dressed  like  the 
native  vidette.  So  Hills,  thinking  them  friends,  let  them 
pass  his  two  guns,  until  they  began  charging  the  Cara- 
bineers; and  then  it  was  too  late  to  stop  'em." 

"Why?" 

"  Carabineers — didn't  stand,  somehow,  except  their 
officer.     So    Hills    charged    instead.     By    George!     I'd 


BUGLES  AIVD  FIFES.  325 

have  given  a  fiver  to  see  him  do  it.  You  know  what  a 
Httle  chap  he  is — a  boy  to  look  at.     And  then " 

"  And  then,"  interrupted  the  Doctor,  who  had  been 
giving  a  glance  at  a  ticklish  bandage  as  he  passed  the  bed 
round  which  the  speakers  were  gathered,  "  I  think  I  can 
tell  you  in  his  own  words;  for  he  was  quite  cool  and  col- 
lected when  they  brought  him  in — said  it  was  from  bleed- 
ing so  much  about  the  head " 

A  ripple  of  mirth  ran  through  the  listeners,  but  Major 
Erlton  did  not  smile  this  time;  the  laugh  was  too  tender. 

"  He  said  he  thought  if  lie  charged  it  would  be  a  di- 
version, and  give  time  to  load  up.  So  he  rode — Yes!  I 
should  like  to  have  seen  it  too! — slap  at  the  front  rank, 
cut  down  the  first  fellow,  slashed  the  next  over  the  face. 
Then  the  two  following  crashed  into  him,  and  down  he 
went  at  such  a  pace  that  he  only  got  a  slice  to  his  jacket 
and  lay  snug  till  the  troop — a  hundred  and  fifty  or  so — 
rode  over  him.  Then — ha — ha!  he  got  up  and  looked  for 
his  sword!  Had  just  found  it  ten  yards  off,  when  three 
of  them  turned  back  for  him.  He  dropped  one  from  his 
horse,  dodged  the  otlier,  who  had  a  lance,  and  finally 
gashed  him  over  the  head.  Number  three  was  on  foot — ■ 
the  man  he'd  dropped,  he  thinks,  at  first — and  they  had 
a  regular  set  to.  Then  Hill's  cloak,  soaked  with  rain, 
got  round  his  throat  and  half  choked  him,  and  the  brute 
managed  to  disarm  him.  So  he  had  to  go  for  him  with 
his  fists,  and  by  punching  merrily  at  his  head  managed 
all  right  till  he- tripped  over  his  cloak  and  fell " 

"  And  then,"  put  in  another  voice  eagerly,  "  Tombs, 
]n"s  IMajor,  who  had  been  running  from  his  tent  through 
the  thick  of  those  charging  devils  on  foot  to  see  what 
was  up  that  the  Carabineers  should  be  retiring,  saw  him 
lying  on  the  ground,  took  a  pot  shot  at  thirty  paces — and 
dropped  his  man!  " 

"  By  George,  what  luck!  "  commented  someone;  "he 
must  have  been  blown !  " 

"  Accustomed  to  turnips,  I  should  say,"  remarked 
another,  with  a  curiously  even  voice;  the  voice  of  one  with 
a  lump  in  his  throat,  and  a  slight  difficulty  in  keeping 
steady. 

"  Did  they  kill  the  lot?  "  asked  Major  Erlton  quickly. 


326  OA'    THE  FACE   OF   THE    JrATERS. 

"  Bungled  it  rather,  but  it  was  all  right  in  the  end. 
They  were  a  plucky  set,  though;  charged  to  the  very  mid- 
dle of  the  camp,  shouting  to  the  black  artillery  to  join 
them,  to  come  back  with  them  to  Delhi." 

"  But  they  met  with  a  pluckier  lot!  "  interrupted  the 
man  who  had  suggested  turnips.  "  The  black  company 
wasn't  ready  for  action.  The  white  one  behind  it  was; 
unlimbered,  loaded.  And  the  blackies  knew  it.  So  they 
called  out  to  fire — fire  at  once — fire  sharp — fire  through 

them — Well!  d n  it  all,  black  or  white,  I  don't  care, 

it's  as  plucky  a  thing  as  has  been  done  yet."  He  moved 
away,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  attempting  a  whistle;  per- 
haps to  hide  his  trembling  lips. 

"  I  agree,"  said  the  Doctor  gravely,  "  though  it  wasn't 
necessary  to  take  them  at  their  word.  But  somehow  it 
makes  that  mistake  afterward  all  the  worse." 

"  How  many  of  the  poor  beggars  were  killed,  Doctor," 
asked  an  uneasy  voice  in  the  pause  which  followed. 

"  Tw^enty  or  so.  Grass-cutters  and  such  like.  They 
were  hiding  in  the  cemetery  from  the  troopers,  who  w^ere 
slashing  at  everyone,  and  our  men  pursuing  the  party 
which  escaped  over  the  canal  bridge — made — made 
a  mistake.     And — I'm     sorrv     to     say     there     was     a 


"  There  have  been  too  many  mistakes  of  that  sort," 
said  an  older  voice,  breaking  the  silence.  "  I  wish  to  God 
some  of  us  would  think  a  bit.  What  would  our  lives  be 
without  our  servants,  who,  let  us  remember,  outnumber 
us  by  ten  to  one?     If  they  weren't  faithful " 

"  Not  quite  so  many.  Colonel,"  remarked  the  Doctor 
with  a  nod  of  approval.  "  Twenty  families  came  to  the 
Brigade-major  to-day  with  their  bundles,  and  told  him 
they  preferred  the  quiet  of  home  to  the  distraction  of 
camp.     I  don't  wonder." 

"  It  is  all  their  own  fault."  broke  in  an  angry  young 
voice,  "  why  did  they " 

And  so  began  one  of  the  arguments,  so  common  in 
camp,  as  to  the  right  of  revenge  pure  and  simple.  Argu- 
ments fostered  bv  the  newspapers,  where,  every  day.  let- 
ters appeared  from  "  Spartacus,"  or  "  Fiat  Justitia,"  or 
some  such  noju  dc  plume.     Letters  all  alike  in  one  thing, 


BUGLES  AXD   FIFES.  32? 

that  they  quoted  texts  of  Scripture.  Notably  one  about 
a  daughter  of  Babylon  and  the  blessedness  of  throwing 
children  on  stones. 

But  Major  Erlton  did  not  stop  to  listen  to  it.  The 
ethics  of  the  question  did  not  interest  him,  and  in  truth 
mere  revenge  was  lost  in  him  in  the  desire,  not  so  much 
to  kill,  as  to  fight.  To  go  on  hacking  and  hewing  for 
ever  and  ever.  As  he  drifted  on  smoking  his  cigar  he 
thought  quite  kindly  of  the  poor  devils  of  grass-cutters 
who  really  worked  uncommonly  well;  just,  in  fact,  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  So  did  the  old  khansaman,  and 
the  sweeper  who  had  come  back  to  him  on  his  return  to 
the  Ridge,  saying  that  the  Huzoor  would  find  the  tale  of 
chickens  complete.  And  the  garden  of  the  ruined  house 
near  the  Flagstaff  Tower  whither  his  feet  led  him  uncon- 
sciously, as  they  often  did  of  an  evening,  was  kept  tidy; 
the  gardener — when  he  saw  the  tall  figure  approaching — 
going  over  to  a  rose-bush,  which,  now  that  the  rain  had 
fallen,  was  new  budding  with  white  buds,  and  picking  him 
a  buttonhole.  He  sat  down  on  the  plinth  of  the  veranda 
twiddling  it  idly  in  his  fingers  as  he  looked  out  over  the 
panorama  of  the  eastern  plains,  the  curving  river,  and 
the  city  with  the  white  dome  of  the  mosque  hanging  un- 
supported above  the  smoke  and  mist  wreaths.  For  now, 
at  sunsetting,  the  sky  was  a  mass  of  rose-red  and  violet 
cloud  and  a  white  steam  rose  from  the  dripping  trees  and 
the  moist  ground.  It  was  a  perfect  picture.  But  he  only 
saw  the  city.  That,  to  him,  was  India.  That  filled  his  eye. 
The  wide  plains  east  and  west,  north'  and  south,  where 
the  recent  rain  had  driven  every  thought  save  one  of  a 
harvest  to  come,  from  the  minds  of  millions,  where  the 
master  meant  simply  the  claimer  of  revenue,  might  have 
been  non-existent  so  far  as  he,  and  his  like,  were  con- 
cerned. 

Yet  even  for  the  city  he  had  no  definite  conception. 
He  merely  looked  at  it  idly,  then  at  the  rosebud  he 
held.  And  that  reminding  him  of  a  certain  white  marble 
cross  with  *'  Thy  will  be  done  "  on  it,  he  rose  suddenly, 
almost  impatiently.  But  there  was  no  resignation  in  his 
face,  as  he  wandered  toward  the  batteries  again  with  the 
white  flower  of  a  blameless  life  stuck  in  his  old  flannel 


328  ON   THE   FACE   OF    THE    WAFERS. 

coat  and  a  strange  conglomerate  of  pity  and  passion  in 
his  heart,  while  the  city — as  the  light  faded — grew  more 
and  more  like  the  clouds  above  it,  rose-red  and  purple; 
until,  in  the  distance,  it  seemed  a  city  of  dreams. 

In  truth  it  was  so  still,  despite  the  clangor  of  bugles 
and  fifes  which  Bukht  Khan  brought  with  him  when,  on 
the  1st  of  July,  he  crossed  the  swollen  river  in  boats  with 
live  thousand  mutineers.  A  square-shouldered  man 
was  Bukht  Khan,  with  a  broad  face  and  massive  beard; 
a  massive  sonorous  voice  to  match.  A  man  of  the 
Cromwell  type,  of  the  church  militant,  disciplinarian 
to  the  back-bone,  believing  in  drill,  yet  with  an  eye  to  a 
Providence  above  platoon  exercise.  And  there  was  no 
lack  of  soldiers  to  drill  in  Delhi  by  this  time.  They  came 
in  squads  and  battalions,  to  jostle  each  other  in  the  streets 
and  overflow  into  the  camp  on  the  southern  side  of  the 
city ;  that  furthest  from  the  obstinate  colony  on  the  Ridge. 
But  first  they  flung  themselves  against  it  in  all  the  ardor 
of  new  brooms,  and  failing  to  sweep  the  barnacles  away, 
subsided  into  the  general  state  of  dreaminess  and  drugs. 
For  the  bugles  and  fifes  could  always  be  disobeyed  on 
the  plea  that  they  were  not  sounded  by  the  right  Com- 
mander-in-Chief. There  were  three  of  them  now. 
Bukht  Khan  the  Queen's  nominee,  Mirza  Moghul,  and 
another  son  of  the  King's,  Khair  Sultan.  So  that  Abool- 
Bukr's  maudlin  regrets  for  possible  office  became  acute, 
and  Newasi's  despairing  hold  on  his  hand  had  to  gain 
strength  from  every  influence  she  could  bring  to  bear 
upon  it.  Even  drunkenness  and  debauchery  were  safer 
than  intrigue,  to  that  vision  of  retribution  which  seemed 
to  have  left  him,  and  taken  to  haunting  her  day  and  night. 
So  she  held  him  fast,  and  when  he  was  not  there  wept  and 
prayed,  and  listened  hollow-eyed  to  a  Moulvie  who 
preached  at  the  neighboring  mosque;  a  man  who 
preached  a  judgment. 

"  Thou  art  losing  thy  looks,  mine  Aunt,"  said  the 
Prince  to  her  one  day.  Not  unkindly;  on  the  contrary, 
almost  tenderly.  "  Dost  know.  Newasi,  thou  art  more 
woman  than  most. for  thou  dost  brave  all  things,  even  loss 
of  good  name — for  I  swear  even  these  Mufti  folk  com- 
plain of  thee — for  nothing.     None  other  I  know  would 


BUGLES  AND  FIFES.  3^9 

do  it,  SO  I  would  not  have  it — for  something.  Yet  some 
day  we  shall  quarrel  over  it;  some  day  thy  patience  will 
go;  some  day  thou  wilt  be  as  others,  thinking  of  thyself; 
and  then " 

"  And  then,  nephew?  "  she  asked  coldly. 

He  laughed,  mimicking  her  tone.  "  And  then  I  shall 
grow  tired  and  go  mine  own  way  to  mine  own  end." 

In  the  meantime,  however,  the  thrummings  and  drum- 
mings  went  on  until  Kate  Erlton,  watching  a  sick  bed 
hard  by,  felt  as  if  she  must  send  round  and  beg  for 
quiet.  It  seemed  quite  natural  she  should  do  so,  for 
she  was  completely  absorbed  over  that  patient  of  hers, 
who,  without  being  seriously  ill,  would  not  get  better. 
Who  passed  from  one  relapse  of  fever  to  another  with  a 
listless  impatience,  and  now,  nearly  a  month  after  he  had 
stumbled  over  the  threshold,  lay  barely  convalescent.  It 
had  been  a  strange  month.  Stranger  even  than  the  pre- 
vious one,  when  she  had  dragged  through  the  lonely  days 
as  best  she  could,  and  he  had  wandered  in  and  out  rest- 
lessly, full  of  strain  and  stress.  If  even  that  had  been  a 
curious  linking  of  their  fates,  what  was  this  when  she 
tended  him  day  and  night,  when  the  weeks  slipped  by 
securely,  almost  ignorantly?  For  though  Soma  came 
every  day  to  inquire  after  the  master,  standing  at  the 
door  to  salute  to  her,  spick  and  span  in  full  uniform,  he 
brought  no  disturbing  news. 

It  seemed  to  her,  now,  that  she  had  known  Jim  Doug- 
las all  his  life.  And  in  truth  she  had  learned  something 
of  the  real  man  during  the  few  days  of  delirium  conse- 
quent on  the  violent  inflammation  which  set  in  on  the  in- 
jured ankle.  But  for  the  most  part  he  had  muttered  and 
moaned  in  liquid  Persian.  He  had  always  spoken  it  with 
Zora.  who  had  been  taught  it  as  part  of  her  attractions, 
and  no  doubt  it  Wc^s  the  jingle  of  the  jewels  as  Kate 
tended  him,  which  reminded  him  of  that  particular  part 
of  his  life. 

By  the  time  he  came  to  himself,  however,  she  had  re- 
moved all  the  fineries,  finding  them  in  the  way;  save  the 
heavy  gold  bangle  which  would  not  come  ofT — at  least 
not  without  help.  He  used  to  watch  it  half  confusedly 
at  first  as  it  slipped  up  and  down  her  arm,  and  wondered 


33°  OiV   THE  FACE   OF   THE    IVATERS. 

why  she  had  not  asked  Tara  to  take  it  off  for  her;  but  he 
grew  rather  to  hke  the  look  of  it;  to  fancy  that  she  had 
kept  it  on  on  purpose,  to  be  glad  that  she  had;  though  it 
was  distinctly  hard  when  she  raised  him  up  on  his  pillows! 
For,  after  all,  fate  linked  them  strangely,  and  he  was 
grateful  to  her — very  grateful. 

"  You  are  laughing  at  me,"  she  said  one  morning  as 
she  came  up  to  his  bed,  with  a  tray  improvised  out  of  a 
brass  platter,  and  found  him  smiling. 

"  I  have  been  laughing  at  you  all  the  morning,  when 
I  haven't  been  grumbling,"  he  replied,  "  at  you  and  the 
chicken  tea,  and  that  little  fringed  business,  to  do 
duty  as  a  napkin,  I  suppose,  and  the  fly-paper — which 
isn't  the  least  use,  by  the  way,  and  I'm  sure  I  could  make 
a  better  one — and  the  mosquito  net  to  give  additional 
protection  to  my  beauty  when  I  fall  asleep.  Who  could 
help  laughing  at  it?  " 

She  looked  at  him  reproachfully.  "  But  it  makes  you 
more  comfortable,  surely?" 

"Comfortable,"  he  echoed,  "my  dear  lady!  It  is  a 
perfect  convalescent  home!  " 

But  in  the  silence  which  followed  his  right  hand 
clenched  itself  over  a  fold  in  the  cjuilt  unmistakably. 

"  If  you  will  take  your  chicken  tea,"  she  replied  cheer- 
fully, despite  a  faint  tremble  in  her  voice,  "  you  will 
soon  get  out  of  it.  And  really,  Mr.  Greyman,  you  don't 
seem  to  have  lost  any  chance.  Soma  is  not  very  com- 
municative, but  everything  seems  as  it  was.  I  never 
keep  back  anything  from  you.  But,  indeed,  the  chief 
thing  in  the  city  seems  that  there  is  no  money  to  pay  the 
soldiers.  Do  you  know,  I'm  afraid  Soma  must  loot  the 
shops  like  the  others.  He  seems  to  get  things  for  noth- 
ing; though  of  course  they  are  extraordinarily  cheap. 
When  I  was  a  mem  I  used  to  pay  twice  as  much  for 
eggs." 

He  interrupted  her  with  a  laugh  that  had  a  tinge  of 
bitterness  in  it.  "  Do  you  happen  to  know  the  story  of 
the  Jew  who  was  eating  ham  during  a  thunderstorm, 
Mrs.'Erlton?" 

She  shook  her  head,  smiling,  being  accustomed  by  this 
time  to  his  unsparing,  rather  reckless  ridicule. 


BUGLES  AND  FIFES.  ZZ^ 

"  He  looked  up  and  said,  '  All  this  fuss  about  a  little 
bit  of  pork.'  So  all  this  fuss  has  taught  you  the  price  of 
eggs.  Upon  my  word!  it  is  worse  than  the  convales- 
cent home!  "  He  lay  back  upon  his  pillows  with  a  half- 
irritated  weariness. 

"  I  have  learned  more  than  that,  surely "'  she  began. 

"  Learned!  "  he  echoed  sharply.  "  You've  learned 
everything,  my  dear  lady,  necessary  to  salvation.  That's 
the  worst  of  it !  Your  chatter  to  Tara — I  hear  when  you 
think  I  am  asleep.  You  draw  your  veil  over  your  face 
when  the  water-carrier  comes  to  fill  the  pots  as  if  you  had 
been  born  on  a  housetop.  You — Mrs.  Erlton!  If  I 
were  not  a  helpless  idiot  I  could  pass  you  out  of  the  city 
to-morrow,  I  believe.  It  isn't  your  fault  any  longer.  It's 
mine,  and  Heaven  only  knows  how  long.  Oh!  confound 
that  thrumming  and  drumming.  It  gets  on  my  nerves — 
my  nerves! — pshaw!  " 

It  was  then  that  Kate  declared  that  she  would  really 
send  Tara 

"  Mrs.  Erlton  presents  her  compliments  to  the  Prin- 
cess Farkhoonda  Zamani,  and  will  be  obliged,"  jested 
Jim  Douglas;  then  paused,  in  truth  more  irritated  than 
amused,  despite  the  humor  on  his  face.  And  suddenly 
he  appealed  to  her  almost  pitifully,  "  Mrs.  Erlton !  if  any- 
one had  told  you  it  would  be  like  this — your  chance  and 
mine — when  the  world  outside  us  was  alive — was  strug- 
gling for  life — would  you — would  you  have  believed  it?  " 

She  bent  to  push  the  chicken  tea  to  a  securer  position. 
"  No,"  she  said  softly;  then  to  change  the  subject,  added, 
"  How  white  your  hands  are  getting  again!  I  must  put 
some  more  stain  on  them,  I  suppose."  She  spoke  regret- 
fully, though  she  did  not  mind  putting  it  on  her  own. 
But  he  looked  at  the  whiteness  with  distinct  distaste. 

"  It  is  with  doing  nothing  and  lying  like  a  log.  Well! 
I  suppose  I  shall  wake  from  the  dream  some  day,  and 
then  the  moment  I  can  walk " 

"  There  will  be  an  end  of  peace,"  she  interrupted,  quite 
resolutely.  "  I  know  it  is  very  hard  for  you  to  lie  still, 
but  really  you  must  see  how  much  safer  and  smoother 
life  has  been  since  you  were  forced  to  give  in  to  Fate." 

"  And  Kate,"  he  muttered  crosslv  under  his  breath. 


332  ON    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

But  she  heard  it,  and  bit  her  hp  to  prevent  a  tender  smile 
as  she  went  off  to  give  an  order  to  Tara.  For  the  vein  of 
almost  boyish  mischief  and  lighthearted  recklessness 
which  showed  in  him  at  times  always  made  her  think 
how  charming  he  must  have  been  before  the  cloud  shad- 
owed his  life. 

"  The  master  is  much  better  to-day,  Tara,"  she  said 
cheerfully.    "  I  really  think  the  fever  has  gone  for  good." 

"  Then  he  will  soon  be  able  to  take  the  mem  away," 
replied  the  woman  quickly. 

"Are  you  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  rid  of  me?"  asked 
Kate  with  a  smile,  for  she  had  grown  fond  of  the  tall, 
stately  creature,  with  her  solemn  airs  of  duty,  and  abso- 
lute disregard  of  anything  which  came  in  its  way.  The 
intensity  of  the  emotion  which  swept  over  the  face,  which 
was  usually  calm  as  a  bronze  statue,  startled  Kate. 

"  Of  a  truth  I  shall  be  glad  to  go  back.  The  Huzoors' 
life  is  not  my  life,  their  death  not  my  death." 

It  was  as  if  the  woman's  whole  nature  had  recoiled,  as 
one  might  recoil  from  a  snake  in  the  path,  and  a  chill 
struck  Kate  Erlton's  heart,  as  she  realized  on  how 
frail  a  foundation  peace  and  security  rested.  A  look,  a 
word,  might  bring  death.  It  seemed  to  her  incredible 
that  she  should  have  forgotten  this,  but  she  had.  She 
had  almost  forgotten  that  they  were  living  in  a  be- 
leagured  city,  though  the  reverberating  roll  of  artillery, 
the  rush  and  roar  of  shells,  and  the  crackle  of  musketry 
never  ceased  for  more  than  a  few  hours  at  a  time. 

She  was  not  alone,  however,  in  her  forgetfulness.  Half 
Delhi  had  become  accustomed  to  cannon,  to  bugles  and 
fifes,  and  went  on  its  daily  round  indifferently.  But  in 
tlie  Palace  the  dream  grew  ominously  thin  once  or  twice. 
For  not  a  fraction  remained  in  the  Treasury,  no  effort 
to  collect  revenue  had  been  made  anywhere,  and  fat 
Mahboob,  the  only  man  who  knew  how  to  screw  money 
out  of  a  stone,  lay  dying  of  dropsy.  And  as  he  lay,  the 
mists  of  personal  interest  in  the  future  dispersing,  he  told 
his  old  master,  the  King,  some  home  truths  privately, 
while  Ahsan-Oolah,  the  physician,  administering  cooling 
draughts  as  usual,  added  his  wisdom  to  the  eunuch's. 
There  was  no  hope  where  there  was  no  money.     Life 


BUGLES  AND  FIFES.  ZZ^, 

was  not  worth  living  without  a  regular  pension.  Let  the 
King  secure  his  and  secure  pardon  while  there  was 
yet  time,  by  sending  a  letter  to  the  General  on  the  Ridge, 
and  offering  to  let  the  English  in  by  Selimgarh  and  be- 
tray the  city.  When  all  was  said  and  done,  others  had 
betrayed  him,  had  forced  his  hand;  so  let  him  save  him- 
self if  he  could,  quietly,  without  a  word  to  any  but 
Ahsan-Oolah.  Above  all,  not  one  word  to  Zeenut 
Maihl,  Hussan  Askuri,  and  Bukht  Khan — that  Trinity  of 
Dreams! 

With  which  words  of  wisdom  mayhap  lightening  his 
load  of  sins,  the  fat  eunuch  left  the  court  once  and  for 
all.  So  the  old  King,  as  he  sat  listening  to  the  quarrels 
of  his  Commander-in-Chief,  had  other  consolation  be- 
sides couplets ;  and  when  he  wrote 

"  No  peace,  no  rest,  since  armies  round  me  riot, 
Life  lingers  yet,  but  ere  long  I  shall  die  o't," 

he  knew — though  his  yellow,  wax-like  mask  hid  the 
knowledge  from  all — that  a  chance  of  escape  remained. 

The  old  King's  letter  reached  the  Ridge  easily.  There 
was  no  difficulty  in  communication  now.  Spies  were 
plentiful,  and  if  Jim  Douglas  had  been  able  to  get  about, 
he  could  have  set  Major  Erlton's  mind  at  rest  without 
delay.  But  Soma  positively  refused  to  be  a  go-between; 
to  do  anything,  in  short,  save  secure  the  master's  safetv'. 
And  the  offer  of  betrayal  arrived  when  the  man  who  held 
command  of  the  Ridge  felt  uncertain  of  the  future;  all  the 
more  so  because  of  the  telegrams,  the  letters — almost  the 
orders — which  came  pouring  in  to  take  Delhi — to  take  it 
at  once!  Early  in  the  month,  the  gamester's  throw  of 
assault  had  been  revived  with  the  arrival  of  reinforce- 
ments, only  to  be  abandoned  once  more,  within  an  hour 
of  the  appointed  time,  in  favor  of  the  grip-of-death.  But 
now,  though  the  whisper  had  gone  no  further  than  the 
General's  tent,  a  third  possibility  w'as  allowed — retreat. 
The  six  thousand  were  dwindling  day  by  day,  the  men 
were  half  dead  with  picket  duty,  wearied  out  with  need- 
less skirmishes,  crushed  by  the  tyranny  of  bugles  and 
fifes. 

If  this  then  could  be?     There  was  no  lack  of  desire  to 


334  ON   THE  FACE   OE   THE    WATERS. 

believe  it  possible;  but  Greathed  of  the  politicals,  and 
Sir  Theophilus  Metcalfe  shook  their  heads  doubtfully. 
Hodson,  they  said,  had  better  be  consulted.  So  the  tali 
man  with  the  blue  hawk's  eyes,  who  had  lost  his  temper 
many  times  since  that  dawn  of  the  12th  of  June,  when  the 
first  assault  had  hung-  fire,  was  asked  for  his  opinion. 

'■  We  had  a  chance  at  the  beginning,"  he  said.  "  We 
could  have  a  chance  now,  if  there  was  someone — but  that 
is  beside  the  question.  As  for  this,  it  is  not  worth  the 
paper  it  is  written  on.  The  King  has  no  power  to  fulfill 
his  promise.  He  is  virtually  a  prisoner  himself.  That 
is  the  truth.  But  don't  send  an  answer.  Refer  it,  and 
keep  him  quiet." 

"  And  retreat?  " 

"  Retreat  is  impossible,  sir.     It  would  lose  us  India." 

"Any  news,  Hodson?"  asked  Major  Erlton,  meeting 
the  free-lance  as  he  rode  back  to  his  tent  after  his  fashion, 
with  loose  rein  and  loose  seat,  unkempt,  undeviating, 
with  an  eye  for  any  and  every  advantage. 

"  None'." 

"  Any  chance  of — of  anything?  " 

"  None  with  our  present  chiefs.  If  we  had  Sir  Henry 
Lawrence  here  it  would  be  different." 

But  Sir  Henry  Lawrence,  having  done  his  duty  to  the 
uttermost,  already  lay  dead  in  the  residency  at  Lucknow, 
though  the  tidings  had  not  reached  the  Ridge.  And  yet 
more  direful  tidings  were  on  their  way  to  bring  July,  that 
month  of  clouds  and  cholera,  of  flies  and  funerals,  of  end- 
less buglings  and  fifings,  to  a  close. 

It  came  to  the  city  first.  Came  one  afternoon  when 
the  King  sat  in  the  private  Hall  of  Audience,  his  back 
toward  the  arcaded  view  of  the  eastern  plains,  ablaze 
with  sunlight,  his  face  toward  the  garden,  which,  through 
the  marble-mosaic  traced  arches,  showed  like  an  em- 
broidered curtain  of  green  set  with  jeweled  flowers. 
Above  him,  on  the  roof,  circled  the  boastful  legend: 

"  If  earth  holds  a  haven  of  bliss 
It  is  this — it  is  this — it  is  this  !  " 

And  all  around  him,  in  due  order  of  precedence,  ac- 
cording to  the  latest  army  lists  procurable  in  Delhi,  were 


BUGLES  AND   FIFES.  335 

ranged  the  mutinous  native  officers;  for  half  the  King's 
sovereignty  showed  itself  in  punctilious  etiquette.  At  his 
feet,  below  the  peacock  throne,  stood  a  gilded  cage  con- 
taining a  cockatoo.  For  Hafzan  had  been  so  far  right 
in  her  estimate  of  Hussan  Askuri's  wonders  that  poor  lit- 
tle Sonny's  pet,  duly  caught,  and  with  its  crest  dyed  an 
orthodox  green,  had  been  used — like  the  stuffed  lizard — 
to  play  on  the  old  man's  love  of  the  marvelous.  So,  for 
the  time  being,  the  bird  followed  him  in  his  brief  journey- 
ings  from  Audience  Hall  to  balcony,  from  balcony  to  bed. 

The  usual  pile  of  brocaded  bags  lay  below  that  again, 
upon  the  marble  floor,  where  a  reader  crouched, 
sampling  the  most  loyal  to  be  used  as  a  sedative.  One 
would  be  needed  ere  long,  for  the  Commanders-in-Chief 
were  at  war;  Bukht  Khan,  backed  by  Hussan  Askuri, 
with  his  long  black  robe,  his  white  beard,  and  the  wild 
eyes  beneath  his  bushy  browns,  and  by  all  the  puritans  and 
fanatics  of  the  city ;  Mirza  Moghul  by  his  brother,  Khair 
Sultan,  and  most  of  the  Northern  Indian  rebels  who  re- 
fused a  mere  ex-soubadar's  right  to  be  better  than  they. 

"  Let  the  Light-of-the-World  choose  between  us," 
came  the  sonorous  voice  almost  indifferently;  in  truth 
those  secret  counsels  of  Bukht  Khan  with  the  Queen,  of 
which  the  Palace  was  big  with  gossip,  held  small  place, 
allowed  small  consideration  for  the  puppet  King. 

"  Yea!  let  the  Pillar-of-State  choose,"  bawled  the  shrill 
voice  of  the  Moghul,  whose  yello.w,  small-featured  face 
was  ablaze  with  passion.  "  Choose  between  his  son  and 
heir  and  this  low-born  upstart,  this  soubadar  of  artillery, 
this  puritan  by  profession,  this  debaucher  of  King's " 

He  paused,  for  Bukht  Khan's  hand  was  on  his  sword, 
and  there  was  an  ominous  stir  behind  Hussan  Askuri. 
Ahsan-Oolah,  a  discreet  figure  in  black  standing  by  the 
side  of  the  throne,  craned  his  long  neck  forward,  and  his 
crafty  face  wore  an  amused  smile. 

Bukht  Khan  laughed  disdainfully  at  the  ]\Iirza's  full 
stop.  "  What  I  am,  sire,  matters  little  if  I  can  lead 
armies  to  victory.     The  I\Iirza  hath  not  led  his,  as  yet." 

"  X"ot  led  them?"  interrupted  an  officious  peace- 
bringer.  "  Lo!  the  hell-doomed  are  reduced  to  live  hun- 
dred; the  colonels  are   eating  their  horses'   grain,    the 


33^  OaY  THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

captains  are  starving,  and  our  shells  cause  terror  as  they 
cry,   'Coffin!     Coffin!  {bocciis!  bocciis!) '" 

"  The  Mirza  could  do  as  well  as  thou,"  put  in  a  parti- 
san, heedless  of  the  tales  to  which  the  King,  however, 
had  been  nodding  his  head,  "  if,  as  thou  hast,  he  had 
money  to  pay  his  troops.  The  Begum  Zeenut  Maihl's 
hoards " 

The  sword  and  the  hand  kept  company  again  signifi- 
cantly. "  I  pay  my  men  by  the  hoard  I  took  from  the 
infidel,  Meean-jee,"  retorted  the  loud,  indifferent  voice. 
"  And  when  it  is  done  I  can  get  more.  The  Palace  is 
not  sucked  dry  yet,  nor  Delhi  either." 

The  Meean,  well  known  to  have  feathered  his  nest 
bravely,  muttered  something  inaudible,  but  a  stout, 
white-robed  gentleman  bleated  hastily: 

"  There  is  no  more  money  to  be  loaned  in  Delhi,  be 
the  interest  ever  so  high." 

The  broad  face  broadened  with  a  sardonic  smile.  "  I 
borrow,  banker-jee,  according  to  the  tenets  o-f  the  faith, 
without  interest!  For  the  rest,  five  minutes  in  thy  house 
with  a  spade  and  a  string  bed  to  hang  thee  on  head  down, 
and  I  pay  every  fighter  for  the  faith  in  Delhi  his  arrears." 

''Wall!  IV ah!"  A  fierce  murmur  of  approval  ran 
round  the  audience,  for  all  liked  that  way  of  dealing  with 
folk  who  kept  their  money  to  themselves. 

"  But,  Khan-jee!  there  is  no  such  hurry,"  protested 
the  keeper  of  peace,  the  promoter  of  dreams.  ''  The 
hell-doomed  are  at  the  last  gasp.  Have  not  two 
Commanders-in-Chief  had  to  commit  suicide  before  their 
troops?  And  was  not  the  third  allowed  by  special  favor 
of  the  Queen  to  go  away  and  do  it  privately?  This  one 
will  have  to  do  it  also,  and  then " 

"  And  a  letter  has  but  this  day  come  in,"  said  a  grave, 
clever-looking  man,  interrupting  the  tale  once  more, 
"  offering  ten  lakhs ;  but  as  the  writer  makes  stipula- 
tions, we  are  asking  what  treasury  he  means  to  loot,  or 
if  it  is  hidden  hoards." 

Bukht  Khan  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  The  Aleean's 
or  the  banker's  hoards  are  nearer,"  he  said  brutallv, 
"  and  money  we  must  have,  if  we  are  to  fight  as  soldiers. 
Otherwise "     He  paused.     There  was  a  stir  at  the 


BUGLES  AXD   FIFES.  337 

entrance,  where  a  news-runner  had  unceremoniously 
pushed  his  way  in  to  flourish  a  letter  in  a  long  envelope, 
and  pant  with  vehement  show  of  breathlessness.  "  In 
haste!     In  haste!  and  buksheesh  for  the  bringer." 

The  King,  who  had  been  listening  wearily  to  the  dis- 
pute, thinking  possibly  that  the  paucity  of  commanders 
on  the  Ridge  was  preferable  to  the  plethora  of  them  at 
court,  looked  up  indifferently.  They  came  so  often, 
these  bearers  of  wonderful  news.  Not  so  often  as  the 
little  brocaded  bags;  but  they  had  no  more  effect. 

"  Reward  him,  Keeper-of-the-Pufse,"  he  said  punc- 
tiliously, "  and  read,  slave.  It  is  some  victory  to  our 
troops,  no  doubt." 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  people  waited  indif- 
ferently, wondering,  some  of  them,  if  it  was  bogus  news 
that  was  to  come  or  not. 

Then  the  court  moonshee  stood  up  with  a  doubtful 
face.  "  'Tis  from  Cawnpore,"  he  murmured,  forgetting 
decorum  and  etiquette;  forgetting  everything  save  the 
news  that  the  Nana  of  Bithoor  had  killed  the  two  hun- 
dred women  and  children  he  had  pledged  himself  to 
save. 

Bukht  Khan's  hand  went  to  his  sword  once  more,  as 
he  listened,  and  he  turned  hastily  to  Hussan  Askuri. 
"  That  settles  it  as  thou  wouldst  have  it,"  he  whispered. 
"  It  is  Holy  \\^ar  indeed,  or  defeat." 

But  ^lirza  Moghul  shrank  as  a,  man  shrinks  from  the 
scaffold. 

The  old  King  stood  up  quickly;  stood  up  between  the 
lights  looking  out  on  the  curtain  of  flowers.  "  What- 
ever happens,"  he  said  tremulously,  "  happens  by  the 
will  of  God." 

His  sanctimoniousness  never  failed  him. 

So  on  the  night  of  the  23d  of  August  there  was  an 
unwonted  stillness  in  the  city,  and  the  coming  of  day  did 
not  break  it.  The  rain,  it  is  true,  fell  in  torrents,  but 
many  an  attack  had  been  made  in  rain  before.  There 
was  none  now.  The  bugles  and  fifes  had  ended,  and 
folk  were  waiting  for  the  drum  ecclesiastic  to  begin. 
What  they  thought  meanwhile,  who  knows?  Delhi  held 
a  hundred  and  fiftv  thousand  souls,  swelled  to  nigh  two 


33^  ON   THE  FACE   OE   THE    WATERS. 

hundred  thousand  by  soldiers.  Only  this,  therefore,  is 
certain,  the  thoughts  must  have  been  diverse. 

But  on  the  Ridge,  when,  after  a  few  days,  the  tidings 
reached  it  with  certainty,  there  was  but  one.  It  found 
expression  in  a  letter  which  the  General  wrote  on  the  last 
day  of  July.  "  It  is  my  firm  intention  to  hold  my  present 
position  and  resist  attack  to  the  last.  The  enemy  are 
very  numerous,  and  may  possibly  break  through  our 
intrenchments  and  overwhelm  us,  but  the  force  will  die 
at  its  post." 

No  talk  of  retirement  now!  The  millions  of  peasants 
plowing  their  land  peaceably  in  firm  faith  of  a  just  mas- 
ter who  would  take  no  more  than  his  due,  the  thousands 
even  in  the  bloody  city  itself  waiting  for  this  tyranny  to 
pass,  were  not  to  be  deserted.  The  fight  would  go  on. 
The  fight  for  law  and  order. 

So  the  sanctimonious  old  King  had  said  sooth,  "  What- 
ever happens,  happens  by  the  will  of  God." 

Those  two  hundred  had  not  died  in  vain. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    DRUM    ECCLESIASTIC. 

The  silence  of  the  city  had  lasted  for  seven  days.  And 
now,  on  the  1st  of  August,  the  dawn  was  at  hand,  and  the 
rain  which  had  been  falling  all  night  had  ceased,  leaving 
pools  of  water  about  the  city  walls.  Still,  smooth  pools 
like  plates  of  steel,  dimly  reflecting  the  gray  misty  sky 
against  which  the  minarets  of  the  mosque  showed  as 
darker  streaks,  its  dome  like  a  faint  cloud. 

And  suddenly  the  silence  ended.  The  first  shudder- 
ing beat  of  a  royal  salute  vibrated  through  the  heavy 
dewy  air,  the  first  chord  of  "  God  save  the  Queen," 
played  by  every  band  in  Delhi,  floated  Ridgeward. 

The  cheek  of  it! 

That  phrase — no  other  less  trenchant,  more  refined — 
expressed  purely  the  feeling  with  which  the  roused  six 
thousand  listened  from  picket  or  tent,  comfortable  bed  or 


THE  DRUM  ECCLESIASTIC.  339 

damp  sentry-go,  to  this  topsy-turveydom  of  anthems! 
The  cheek  of  it!  The  very  walls  ought  to  fall  Jericho- 
wise  before  such  sacrilegious  music. 

But  in  the  city  it  sent  a  thrill  through  hearts  and 
brains.  For  it  roused  many  a  dreamer  who  had  never 
felt  the  chill  of  a  sword-hilt  on  his  palm  to  the  knowl- 
edge that  the  time  for  gripping  one  had  come. 

Since  this  was  Bukr-eed,  the  Great  Day  of  Sacrifice. 
No  common  Bukr-eed  either,  when  the  blood  of  a  goat 
or  a  bull  would  worthily  commemorate  Abraham's  sacri- 
fice of  his  best  and  dearest,  but  something  more  akin  to 
the  old  patriarch's  devotion.  Since  on  Bukr-eed,  1857, 
the  infidel  was  to  be  sacrificed  by  the  faithful,  and  the 
faithful  by  the  infidel. 

For  the  silence  of  seven  days  had  been  a  silence  only 
from  bugles  and  fifes;  the  drum  ecclesiastic  had  taken 
their  place.  The  mosques  had  resounded  day  and  night 
to  the  wild  tirades  of  preachers,  and  even  Mohammed 
Ismail,  feeling  that  in  religious  war  lay  the  only  chance 
of  forgiveness  for  past  horrors,  spent  every  hour  in  paint- 
ing its  perfections,  in  deprecating  any  deviation  from  its 
rule.  The  sword  or  the  faith  for  men;  the  faith  without 
the  sword  for  those  who  could  not  fight.  But  others 
were  less  scrupulous,  their  denunciations  less  guarded, 
and  as  the  processions  passed  through  the  narrow  streets 
flaunting  the  green  banner,  half  the  Mohammedan  popu- 
lation felt  that  the  time  had  come  to  strike  their  blow  for 
the  faith.  And  Hussan  Askuri  dreamed  dreams;  and 
the  Bird-of-Heaven,  with  its  crest  new-dyed  for  the  occa- 
sion, gave  the  Great  Cry  viciously  as  it  was  paraded 
through  jostling  crowds  in  the  Thunbi  Bazaar,  where 
religion  found  recruits  by  the  score  even  among  the 
women.  While  Abool-Bukr,  vaguely  impressed  by  the 
stir,  the  color,  the  noise,  took  to  the  green  and  swore  to 
live  cleanly.  So  that  Xewasi's  soft  eyes  shone  as  she 
repeated  Mohammed  Ismail's  theories.  They  were  very 
true,  the  Prince  said;  besides  this  could  be  nothing  but 
honest  fighting  since  there  w^ere  no  women  on  the  Ridge ; 
whereupon  she  stitched  away  at  his  green  banner  fear- 
lessly. 

But  in  the  Palace  it  needed  all  Bukht  Khan's  determi- 


34«5  ON    THE  FACE    OF   THE    WATERS. 

nation  and  Hus^an  Askuri's  wily  dreams  to  reconcile  the 
old  King  to  the  breach  of  etiquette  which  the  sacrifice 
of  a  camel  instead  of  a  bull  by  the  royal  hands  involved. 
For  the  army — three-quarters  Brahmin  and  Rajpoot — 
had  been  promised,  as  a  reward  for  helping  to  drive  out 
the  infidel,  that  no  sacred  kine  should  be  killed  in 
Hindustan. 

And  others  besides  the  King  objected  to  the  restric- 
tion. Old  Fatma,  for  instance,  Shumsha-deen  the  seal- 
cutter's  wife,  as  she  swathed  her  husband's  white  beard 
with  pounded  henna  leaves  to  give  it  the  orthodox  red 
dye. 

"What  matters  it,  woman?"  he  replied  sternly,  but 
with  an  odd  quaver  in  his  voice.  "  There  is  a  greater 
sacrifice  than  the  blood  of  bvdls  and  goats,  and  that  I 
may  yet  ofifer  this  blessed  Eed." 

"  And  mayhap,  mother,"  suggested  the  widowed, 
childless  daughter-in-law,  "  a  goat  will  serve  our  turn 
better  than  a  stirk  this  year:  there  will  be  enough  for 
ofifering,  and  belike  there  may  be  no  feasting." 

The  old  lady,  high-featured,  high-tempered,  wept  pro- 
fusely between  her  railings  at  the  ill-omened  suggestion; 
but  the  old  Turk  admitted  the  possibility  with  a  strained 
wondering  look  in  the  eyes  which  had  lost  their  keenness 
with  graving  texts.  So,  as  the  day  passed  the  women 
helped  him  faithfully  in  his  bath  of  purification,  and  the 
daughter-in-law,  having  the  steadiest  hand,  put  the  anti- 
mony into  the  old  man's  eyes  as  he  squatted  on  a  clean 
white  cloth  stretched  in  the  center  of  the  odd  little  court- 
yard. She  used  the  stylus  she  had  brought  with  her  to 
the  house  as  a  bride,  and  it  woke  past  memories  in  the 
old  brain,  making  the  black-edged  old  eyes  look  at  the 
wife  of  his  youth  with  a  wistful  tenderness.  For  it  was 
years  since  a  woman  had  performed  the  kindly  ofBce; 
not  since  the  finery  and  folly  of  life  had  passed  into  the 
next  generation's  hands.  But  old  Fatma  thought  he 
still  looked  as  handsome  as  any  as  he  finally  stepped  into 
the  streets  in  his  baggy  trousers  with  one  green  shawl 
twisted  into  a  voluminous  waistband,  another  into  a  tur- 
ban, his  flaming  red  beard  flowing  over  his  white  tunic, 


THE   DRUM  ECCLESIASTIC.  341 

and  a  curved  scimitar — it  was  rather  difficult  to  get  out 
of  its  scabbard  by  reason  of  rust — at  his  side. 

"  Lo!  here  comes  old  Fatma's  Shumsha-deen,"  whis- 
pered other  women,  peeping  through  other  chinks.  "  He 
looks  well  for  sure;  better  by  far  than  Murri-am's  Faiz- 
Ahmud  for  all  his  new  gold  shoes!  '-' 

And  those  two,  daughter  and  mother-in-law,  huddled 
in  unaccustomed  embrace  to  see  the  last  of  their  martyr 
through  the  only  convenient  crack,  felt  a  glow  of  pitiful 
pride  before  they  fell  a-weeping  and  a-praying  the  old 
pitiful  prayer  of  quarrelers  that  God  would  be  good  to 
His  own. 

There  were  thousands  in  Delhi  about  sunsetting  on 
the  1st  of  August  praying  that  prayer,  though  there  were 
hundreds  who  held  aloof,  talking  learnedly  of  the  House 
of  Protection  as  distinguished  from  the  House  of  the 
Enemy,  as  they  listened  to  the  evening  call  to  prayer. 
How  could  there  be  Holy  War,  when  that  had  echoed 
freely  during  the  British  rule?  And  ^Mohammed  Ismail, 
listening  to  their  arguments  feverishly,  knew  in  his  heart 
that  they  were  right. 

But  the  old  Shumsha-deens  did  not  split  hairs.  So  as 
the  sun  set  they  went  forth  in  thousands  and  the  gates 
were  closed  behind  them;  for  they  were  to  conquer  or 
die.  They  were  to  hurl  themselves  recklessly  on  the 
low  breastworks  which  now  furrowed  the  long  line  of 
hill.  Above  all,  on  that  which  had  crept  down  its  side 
to  a  ruined  temple  within  seven' hundred  yards  of  the 
Moree  Bastion. 

So,  about  the  rising  of  the  moon,  two  days  from  full, 
began  such  a  cannonading  and  fusillading  as  was  not 
surpassed  even  on  that  final  day  when  the  Ridge,  taking 
similar  heart  of  grace,  w^as  to  fling  itself  against  the  city. 

Major  Erlton,  off  duty  but  on  pleasure  in  the  Saming- 
House  breastwork,  said  to  his  neighbor  that  they  must 
be  mad,  as  a  confused  wild  rush  burst  from  the  Moree 
gate.  Six  thousand  or  so  of  soldiers  and  Shumsha-deens 
with  elephants,  camels,  field-pieces,  distinct  in  the  moon- 
light. And  behind  them  came  a  hail  of  shell  and  shot, 
with    them    a    rain    of    grape    and    musket-balls.      But 


342  ON    THE   FACE   OF    THE    IVATERS. 

above  all  the  cHn  and  rattle  could  be  heard  two  things: 
The  cries  of  the  muezzins  from  the  minarets,  chanting 
to  the  four  corners  of  Earth  and  Sky  that  "  Glory  is  for 
all  and  Heaven  for  those  who  bleed,"  and  an  incessant 
bugling. 

"  It's  that  man  in  front,"  remarked  Major  Erlton. 
"  Do  you  think  we  shall  manage,  Reid?  There's  an 
awful  lot  of  them." 

Major  Reid  looked  round  on  his  little  garrison  of 
dark  faces;  for  there  was  not  an  Englishman  in  the  post; 
only  a  hundred  quaint  squat  Ghoorkas,  and  fifty  tall  fair 
Guides  from  the  Western  frontier. 

"  We'll  do  for  just  now,  and  I  can  send  for  the  Rifles 
by  and  by.  There's  to  be  no  pursuit,  you  know.  The 
order's  out.  Ought  to  have  been  out  long  ago.  Re- 
serve your  fire,  men,  till  they  come  close  up." 

And  come  close  they  did,  while  Walidad  Khan,  fierce 
fanatic  from  Peshawur,  and  Gorakh-nath,  fiercer  Bhud- 
dist  from  Nepal,  with  fingers  on  trigger,  called  on  them 
jibingly  to  come  closer  still;  though  twenty  yards  from 
a  breastwork  bristling  with  rifles  was  surely  close 
enough  for  anyone?  But  it  was  not  for  the  bugler  who 
led  the  van,  sounding  assemblies,  advances,  doubles; 
anything  which  might  stir  the  hearts  behind. 

"  He  has  got  a  magnificent  pair  of  bellows,"  remarked 
an  officer,  who,  after  a  time,  came  down  with  a  hundred 
and  fifty  of  the  Rifles  to  aid  that  hundred  and  fifty  natives 
in  holding  the  post  against  six  thousand  and  more  of 
their  countrymen. 

"  Splendid!  he  has  been  at  it  this  hour  or  more,"  said 
Major  Erlton.  "  I  really  think  they  are  mad.  They 
don't  seem  to  aim  or  to  care.     There  they  are  again!  " 

It  was  darker  now,  and  W^alidad  Khan  from  Peshawur 
and  Gorakh-nath  from  Nepal,  and  Bill  Atkins  from 
Lambeth  had  to  listen  for  that  tootling  of  assemblies  and 
advances  to  tell  them  when  to  fire  blindly  from  the 
embrazures  into  the  smoke  and  the  roar  and  the  rattle. 
So  they  fell  to  wondering  among  themselves  if  they  had 
nicked  him  that  time.  Once  or  twice  the  silence  seemed 
to  say  they  had;  but  after  a  bit  the  tootling  began  again, 
and  a  disappointed  pair  of  eyes  peeping  curiously,  reck- 


THE   DRUM  ECCLESIASTIC.  343 

lessly,  would  see  a  dim  figure  running  madly  to  the 
assault  again. 

"Plucky  devil!"  muttered  Major  Erlton  as  with  the 
loan  of  a  rifle  he  had  his  try.  There  was  a  look  of  hope 
on  dark  faces  and  white  alike  as  they  cuddled  down  to 
the  rifle  stocks  and  came  up  to  listen.  It  was  like  shoot- 
ing into  a  herd  of  does  for  the  one  royal  head;  and  some 
of  the  sportsmen  had  tempers. 

"  Sliaifaji-kc-bufcha!  "  (Child  of  the  devil),  muttered 
W'alidad  Khan,  whereat  Gorakh-nath  grinned  from  ear 
to  ear. 

"  Wot  cher  laughin"  at?"  asked  Bill  Atkins,  who  had 
been  indulging  in  language  of  his  own.  "  A  feller  can't 
"it  ghosts.  An'  'e's  the  piper  as  played  afore  Moses; 
that's  what  'ee  is." 

"Look  sharp,  men!"  came  the  officer's  warning. 
"  There's  a  new  lot  coming  on.  Wait  and  let  them 
have  it." 

They  did.  The  din  was  terrific.  The  incessant 
flashes  lighting  up  the  city,  showed  its  roofs  crowded 
with  the  families  of  absent  Shumsha-deens.  So  High 
Heaven  must  have  been  assailed,  indeed,  that  night. 

And  even  when  dawn  came  it  brought  no  Sabbath 
calm.  Only  a  fresh  batch  of  martyrs.  But  they  had  no 
bugler;  for  with  the  dawn  some  fierce  frontiersman, 
jesting  Cockney,  or  grinning  Ghoorkha  may  have  risked 
his  life  for  a  fair  shot  in  daylight  at  ^the  piper  who  played 
before  Moses.  Anyhow,  he  played  no  more.  Perhaps 
the  lack  of  him,  perhaps  the  torrents  of  rain  which  began 
to  fall  as  the  sun  rose,  quenched  the  fires  of  faith.  Any- 
how, by  nine  o'clock  the  din  was  over,  the  drum  eccle- 
siastic ceased  to  beat,  and  the  English  going  out  to  count 
the  dead  found  the  bugler  lying  close  to  the  breastwork, 
his  bugle  still  in  his  hand;  a  nameless  hero  save  for  that 
passing  jest. 

But  someone  in  the  city  no  doubt  mourned  the  piper 
who  played  before  Moses,  as  they  mourned  other 
martyrs.     More  than  a  thousand  of  them. 

Yet  the  Ridge,  despite  the  faith,  and  fury,  and  fusillad- 
ing, had  only  to  dig  one  grave;  for  fourteen  hours  of 
what  the  records  call  "  unusual  intrepidity  " — contemp- 


344  ON    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

tuously  cool  equivalent  for  all  that  faith  and  fury — had 
only  killed  one  infidel. 

Shumsha-deen's  Fatma,  however,  was  as  proud  as  if 
he  had  killed  a  hundred;  for  he  had  bled  profusely  for 
the  faith,  having  been  at  the  very  outset  of  it  all  kicked 
by  a  camel  and  sent  flying  on  to  a  rock  to  dream  con- 
fused dreams  of  valor  till  the  bleeding  from  his  nose  re- 
lieved the  slight  concussion  of  his  brain,  and  enabled  him 
to  go  home,  much  shaken,  but  none  the  worse. 

But  many  hundreds  of  women  never  saw  their  Shum- 
sha-deens  again,  or  if  they  saw  them,  only  saw  some- 
thmg  to  weep  over  and  bind  in  white  swaddling  clothes 
and  gold  thread. 

So  by  dark  on  the  2d  of  August  the  sound  of  wailing 
women  rose  from  every  alley,  and  the  men,  wandering 
restlessly  about  the  bazaars,  listened  to  the  sound  of 
tattoo  from  the  Ridge  and  looked  at  each  other  almost 
startled. 

"  Go-to-bed-Tom !  Go-to-bed-Tom !  Drunk-or-sober- 
go-to-bed-Tom !  " 

The  Day  of  Sacrifice  was  over,  and  Tom  was  going  to 
bed  quietly  as  if  nothing  had  happened!  They  did  not 
know  that  three-quarters  of  the  Toms  had  been  in  bed 
the  night  before,  undisturbed  by  the  martyrs'  supreme 
effort.  If  they  had,  they  might  have  wondered  still 
more  persistently  what  Providence  was  about. 

But  in  the  big  mosque,  among  the  great  white  bars  of 
moonlight  slanting  beneath  the  dome,  one  man  knew. 
He  stood,  a  tall  wdiite  figure  beneath  a  furled  green  ban- 
ner, his  arms  outspread,  his  voice  rising  in  fierce  denun- 
ciation. 

"  Cursed  *  be  they  who  did  the  deed,  who  killed  jehad! 
Lo!  I  told  you  in  my  dream  in  the  past  and  ye  would 
not  believe.  I  tell  it  again  that  ye  may  know.  It  was 
dawn.  And  the  Lord  Christ  and  the  Lord  Mohammed 
sat  over  the  World  striving  each  for  His  own  according 
to  the  Will  of  the  Most  High  who  sets  men's  quarrels 
before  the  Saints  in  Heaven  with  a  commander  to  each. 
And  I  saw  the  Lord  Christ  weep,  knowing  that  justice 

*  From  a  contemporaneous  account. 


THE   DRUM  ECCLESIASTIC.  345 

was  on  our  side.  So  the  tiat  for  victory  went  fortli,  and 
I  slept.  But  I  dreamed  again  and  lo!  it  was  eve  with  a 
blood-red  sunsetting  westward.  And  the  Lord  Christ 
wept  still,  but  the  Lord  Mohammed's  voice  rang  loud 
and  stern.  '  Reverse  the  fiat.  Give  the  victory  to  the 
women  and  the  children.'  So  I  woke.  And  it  is  true! 
is  true!     Cursed  be  they  who  killed  jehad!  " 

The  voice  died  away  among  the  arches  where,  in  deli- 
cate tracery,  the  attributes  of  the  Great  Creator  were  cut 
into  changeless  marble.  Truth,  Justice,  Mercy,  all  the 
virtues  from  which  all  religions  make  their  God. 

"  He  is  mad,"  said  some;  but  for  the  most  part  men 
were  silent  as  they  drifted  down  the  great  Flights-of- 
Steps  to  the  city,  leaving  Mohammed  Ismail  alone  under 
the  dome. 

"Didst  expect  otherwise,  my  Queen?"  said  Bukht 
Khan  hardily.  "  So  did  not  I !  But  the  end  is  gained. 
Delhi  was  not  ours  in  heart  and  soul  before.  It  is  now. 
When  the  assault  comes  those  who  fought  for  faith  will 
fight  for  their  skins.  And  at  the  worst  there  is  Lucknow 
for  good  Sheeahs  like  the  Queen  and  her  slave.  We 
have  no  tie  here  among  these  Sunnies  who  think  only  of 
their  hoards." 

Zeenut  Maihl  shrank  from  him  with  her  first  touch  of 
fear,  for  she  had  eight  or  nine  lakhs  of  rupees  hidden  in 
that  very  house.  This  man  whom  she  had  summoned 
to  her  aid  bid  fair  to  make  flight  necessary  even  for  a 
woman.  Had  she  ventured  too  much?  Was  there  yet 
time  to  throw  him  over,  throw  everyone  over  and  make 
her  peace?  She  turned  instinctively  in  her  thoughts  to 
one  who  loved  money  also,  who  also  had  hoards  to  save. 
And  so,  within  half  an  hour  of  Bukht  Khan's  departure, 
Ahsan-Oolah  was  closeted  with  the  Queen,  who  after  the 
excitement  of  the  day  needed  a  cooling  draught. 

Most  people  in  the  Palace  needed  one  that  night,  for 
by  this  time  almost  all  the  possible  permutations  of  con- 
federacy had  come  about,  with  the  result  that — each 
combination's  intrigue  being  known  to  the  next — a 
general  distrust  had  fallen  upon  all.  In  addition,  there 
was  now  a  fourth  Commanfler-in-Chief;  one  Ghaus 
Khan,  from  Neemuch,  who  declared  the  rest  were  fools. 


346  ON    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

In  truth  the  Dream  was  wearhig  thin  indeed  within 
the  Palace. 

But  on  that  peaceful  little  housetop  in  the  Mufti's  quar- 
ter it  seemed  more  profound  than  ever;  it  seemed  as  if 
Fate  w^as  determined  to  leave  nothing  wanting  to  the 
strange  unreal  life  that  was  being  lived  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  city.  Jim  Douglas  was  almost  himself  again.  A 
little  lame,  a  little  uncertain  still  of  his  own  strength; 
and  so,  remembering  a  piece  of  advice  given  him  by  the 
old  Baharupa  never  to  attempt  using  the  Gift  when  he 
was  not  strong  enough  for  it  to  be  strong,  he  had  been 
patient  beyond  Kate's  hopes.  But  on  this  2d  of  August, 
after  lying  awake  all  night  listening  to  the  roar  and  the 
din,  he  had  insisted  on  going  out  when  Soma  did  not 
turn  up  as  usual  to  bring  the  news.  He  would  not  be 
long,  he  said,  not  more  than  an  hour  or  two,  and  the 
attempt  must  be  made  some  time.  At  no  better  one 
than  now,  perchance,  since  folk  would  be  occupied  in 
their  own  affairs. 

"  Besides,"  he  added  with  a  smile,  "  I'm  ready  to  allow 
the  convalescent  home  its  due.  While  I've  been  kept 
quiet  the  very  thought  of  concealed  Europeans  has  died 
out." 

"  I  don't  know!  "  she  interrupted  quickly.  "  It  isn't 
long  since  Prince  Abool-Bukr  chased  that  blue-eyed  boy 
of  the  Mufti's  over  the  roofs  thinking  he  was  one — don't 
you  remember  I  was  so  afraid  he  might  climb  up  here?  " 

"  That's  the  advantage  of  being  up-top,"  he  replied 
lightly.  "  Now,  if  anything  were  to  happen,  yoii  could 
scramble  down.  But  the  Prince  was  drunk,  and  I  won't 
go  near  his  haunts — there  isn't  any  danger — really  there 
isn't!" 

"  I  shall  have  to  get  accustomed  to  it  even  if  there  is," 
she  replied  in  the  same  tone. 

Jim  Douglas  paused  at  the  door  irresolutely.  "  Shall 
I  wait  till  Tara  returns?  " 

"  No,  please  don't.  She  is  not  coming  back  till  late. 
She  grows  restless  if  she  does  not  go — and  I  am  all 
right." 

In  truth  Tara  had  been  growing  restless  of  late. 
Kate,  looking  up  from  the  game  of  chess — at  which  her 


THE   DRUM  ECCLESIASTIC.  347 

convalescent  gave  her  half  the  pieces  on  the  board  and 
then  beat  her  easily — used  to  find  those  dark  eyes  watch- 
ing them  furtively.  Zora  Begum  had  never  played 
shatr'inj  with  the  master,  had  never  read  with  him  from 
books,  had  never  treated  him  as  an  equal.  And, 
strangely  enough,  the  familiar  companionship — inevit- 
able under  the  circumstances — roused  her  jealousy  more 
than  the  love-making  on  that  other  terraced  roof  had 
done.  That  she  understood.  That  she  could  crush  with 
her  cry  of  suttee.  But  this — this  which  to  her  real  devo- 
tion seemed  so  utterly  desirable;  what  did  it  mean?  So 
she  crept  away,  when  she  could,  to  take  up  the  saintly 
role  as  the  only  certain  solace  she  knew  for  the  ache  in 
her  heart. 

Therefore  Kate  sat  alone,  darning  Jim  Douglas'  white 
socks — which  as  a  better-class  Afghan  he  was  bound  to 
wear — and  thinking  as  she  did  so  how  incredibly  domes- 
tic a  task  it  was!  Still  socks  had  to  be  darned,  and  with 
Tara  at  hand  to  buy  odds  and  ends,  and  Soma  with  his 
knowledge  of  the  Huzoor's  life  ready  to  bring  chess- 
boards, and  soap,  and  even  a  book  or  two,  it  seemed  as  if 
the  roof  would  soon  be  a  very  fair  imitation  of  home. 
So  she  sat  peacefully  till,  about  dusk,  hearing  a  footfall 
on  the  stairs  halting  with  long  pauses  between  the  steps, 
her  vexation  at  her  patient's  evident  fatigue  overcame 
her  usual  caution;  and  without  waiting  for  his  signal 
knock  she  set  the  door  wide  and.  stepped  out  on  to  the 
stairs  to  give  him  a  hand  if  need  be.  And  then  out  of 
the  shadow  of  the  narrow  brick  ladder  came  a  strange 
voice  panting  breathlessly: 

"Salaam!  mem-sahib."  She  started  back,  but  not  in 
time  to  prevent  a  bent  figure  with  a  bundle  on  its  back 
from  stumbling  past  her  on  to  the  roof;  where,  as  if  ex- 
hausted, it  leaned  against  the  wall  before  slipping  the 
bundle  to  the  floor.  It  was  an  ordinary  brown  blanket 
■  bundle  full  of  uncarded  cotton,  and  the  old  woman  who 
carried  it  was  ragged  and  feeble.  Emaciated  too  beyond 
belief,  as  if  cotton-spinning  had  not  been  able  to  keep 
soul  and  body  comfortably  together.  Not  a  very  for- 
midable foe  this — if  foe  it  was.  Why!  surely  she  knew 
the  face. 


348  ON    THE  FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

"  I  have  brought  Sonny  back,  Huzoor,"  came  the 
breathless  voice. 

Sonny!  Kate  Erlton  gave  a  httle  cry.  She  recol- 
lected now.  "  Oh,  ayah!  "  she  began  recklessly,  "  what? 
where  is  he?  " 

The  old  woman  stumbled  to  the  door,  closed  the  catch, 
and  then  leaned  exhausted  upon  the  lintel,  sinking  down 
slowly  to  a  squatting  position,  her  hand  upon  her  heart. 
There  w^as  more  in  this  than  the  fatigue  of  the  stairs, 
Kate  recognized. 

"  He  is  in  the  bundle,  Huzoor.  The  mem  did  not 
know  me.     She  will  know  the  baba." 

Know  him!  As  her  almost  incredulous  fingers 
fumbled  at  the  knots,  her  mind  was  busy  with  an  ador- 
able vision  of  white  embroideries,  golden  curls,  and 
kissable,  dimpled  milk  and  roses.  So  it  was  no  wonder 
that  she  recoiled  from  the  ragged  shift  and  dark  skin, 
the  black  close-cropped  hair  shaved  horribly  into  a  wide 
gangway  from  nape  to  forehead. 

"Oh,  ayah!"  she  cried  reproachfully,  "what  have 
you  done  to  Sonny  baba!  "  for  Sonny  it  was  unmistak- 
ably in  the  guise  of  a  street  urchin.  A  foolish  remark 
to  make,  doubtless,  but  the  old  Mai,  most  of  whose  life 
had  been  passed  in  the  curling  of  golden  curls,  the  prink- 
ing of  mother's  darlings,  did  not  think  it  strange.  She 
looked  wistfully  at  her  charge,  then  at  Kate  apolo- 
getically. 

"  It  was  safer,  Huzoor.  And  at  least  he  is  fat  and 
fresh.  I  gave  him  milk  and  chikken-brdt.'"  And  it  was 
but  a  tiny  morsel  of  opium  just  to  make  him  quiet  in  the 
bundle." 

Something  in  the  quavering  old  voice  made  Kate 
cross  quickly  to  the  old  woman  and  kneel  beside  her. 

"  You  have  done  splendidly,  ayah,  no  one  could  have 
done  better!  " 

But  the  interest  had  died  from  the  haggard  face. 
"  They  said  folk  would  be  damned  for  it,"  she  muttered 
half  to  herself,  "  but  what  could  I  do?  The  mem,  my 
mem,  said  '  Take  care  of  the  boy.'  So  I  gave  him 
chikken-brdt  and  milk."  She  paused,  then  looked  up  at 
*  Chicken  broth. 


THE  DRUM  FXCLESlASriC.  349 

Kate  slowly.  "  But  I  can  grind  and  spin  no  more, 
Huzoor.  My  life  is  done.  So  I  have  brought  him 
here — and "  she  paused  again  for  breath. 

"  How  did  you  find  me  out?  "  asked  Kate,  longing  to 
give  the  old  woman  some  restorative,  yet  not  daring 
to  offer  it,  for  she  was  a  Mussulmani. 

The  old  Mai  reached  out  a  skeleton  of  a  hand,  half- 
mechanically,  to  flick  away  a  flufY  of  cotton  wool  from 
the  still  sleeping  child's  face.  "  It  was  the  chikkcn- 
brdt,  Huzoor.  The  Huzoor  will  remember  the  old  mess 
khansaman?  He  did  the  pagiil  khanas  [picnics]  and 
nautches  for  the  sahib  logue.  A  big  man  with  gold  lace 
who  made  the  cake  at  Christmas  for  the  babas  and  set 
fire  to  plum-puddeens  as  no  other  khansaman  did.  And 
made    estdrfit  turkeys   and  sasscts   [stufifed   turkey   and 

sausages] — and "     She  seemed  afloat  on  a  Bagh-o- 

bahar  list  of  comestibles,  a  dream  of  days  when,  as  ayah, 
she  had  watched  many  a  big  dinner  go  from  the  cook 
room. 

"  But  about  the  chikkcn-brdt,  ayah?  "  asked  Kate  with 
a  lump  in  her  throat;  for  the  wasted  figure  babbling  of 
old  days  was  evidently  close  on  death. 

"  Huzoor!  Mungul  Khan  keeps  life  in  him,  these 
hard  times,  with  the  selling  of  eggs  and  fowls.  So  he, 
knowing  me,  said  there  was  more  chikken-brdt  than 
mine  being  made  in  the  quarter.  The  Huzoor  need  have 
no  fear.  Mungul  weeps  every  diy  and  prays  the  sahibs 
may  return,  because  his  last  month's  account  was  not 
paid.  A  sweeper  woman,  he  said,  bought  '  halflings  ' 
for  an  Afghan's  bibi.  As  if  an  Afghani  would  use  three 
halflings  in  one  day!  No  one  but  a  mem  making 
chikkcn-brdt  would  do  that.  So  I  watched  and  made 
sure,  against  this  day;  for  I  was  old,  and  I  had  not  spun 
or  ground  for  long." 

"  You  should  have  come  before,"  said  Kate  gently. 
"  You  have  worn  yourself  out." 

The  old  woman  stumbled  to  her  feet.  "  My  life  was 
worn  before,  Huzoor.  I  am  very  old.  I  have  put  many 
boy-babies  into  the  mem's  arms  to  make  them  forget 
their  pain,  and  taken  them  from  them  to  put  the  flowers 
round  them  when  thev  were  dead.     He  was  safer  with 


35°  OiV    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

me  speaking  our  language;  with  you  he  may  remember. 
But  I  shall  be  dead,  so  I  can  do  no  more." 

"  Wait,  do  wait  till  the  sahib  returns,"  pleaded  Kate. 

The  Mai  paused,  her  hand  on  the  latch.  *'  What  have 
I  to  do  with  the  sahibs,  Huzoor?  Mine  were  not  much 
count.  They  made  my  mems  cry,  or  laugh;  cry  first, 
then  laugh.  It  is  bad  for  mems.  But  my  mem  did 
not  care,  she  only  cared  for  the  babies  and  so  there  was 
always  a  flower  for  the  grave.  Matadeen,  the  gardener, 
made  it  and  the  big  Huzoor — Erlton  sahib " 

She  ceased  suddenly  and  went  mumbling  down  the 
stairs  leaving  Kate  to  close  the  door  again  and  drop  on 
her  knees  beside  the  sleeping  child.     Was  he  sleeping 

or  had  the  opium ?     She  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  as — her 

hair  tickling  his  cheek  as  she  bent  to  listen — up  came  a 
chubby  unconscious  hand  to  brush  the  tickle  away. 

Sonny!  It  seemed  incredible.  The  house  would  be 
a  home  indeed  wath  his  sweet  "  Mifis  Erlton  "  echoing 
through  it.  No!  what  the  old  Mai  had  said  was  true. 
There  would  be  danger  in  English  prattle.  She  must 
not  tell  him  who  she  was.  He  must  be  kept  as  safe  as 
that  other  child  over  across  the  seas  whose  empty  place 
this  one  had  partly  filled;  that  other  child  who  in  all 
these  storms  and  stress  was,  thank  Heaven!  so  safe. 
She  must  deny  nerself  that  pleasure,  and  be  content  with 
this  terribly  disguised  Sonny.  Then  she  wondered  if 
the  dye  came  off  as  hers  did;  so  with  wet  finger  began 
trying  the  experiment  on  the  child's  cheek.  A  little; 
but  perhaps  soap  and  warm  water  might She  gath- 
ered Sonny  in  her  arms  and  went  over  to  the  cooking- 
place.  And  there,  to  her  unreasoning  delight,  after  a 
space,  was  a  square  inch  or  so  of  milk  and  roses.  It  was 
trivial,  of  course;  Mr.  Greyman  would  say  womanish, 
but  she  should  like  to  see  the  real  Sonny  just  once!  She 
could  dye  him  again.  So,  with  the  sleeping  child  on  her 
lap,  she  began  soft  dabbings  and  wipings  on  the  forehead 
and  cheeks.  It  was  a  fascinating  task  and  she  forgot 
everything  else;  till,  as  she  began  work  on  the  nose,  what 
with  the  tickling  and  the  tepid  bathings  dispelling  the 
opium  drowsiness.  Sonny  woke,  and  finding  himself  in 
strange  arms  began  to  scream  horribly.     And  there  she 


THE  DRUM  ECCLESIASTIC.  35* 

was  forgetful  of  caution  among  other  things,  kissing  and 
cuciclHng  the  frightened  child,  asking  him  if  he  didn't 
know  her  and  telling  him  he  was  a  good  little  Sonnikins 
whom  nobody  in  the  world  would  hurt!  At  which 
juncture,  with  brain  started  in  a  new-old  groove,  he  said 
amid  lingering  sobs: 

"  Oh,  Mifis  Erlton!     What  has  a-come  of  my  polly?  " 

She  recognized  her  slip  in  a  second;  but  it  was  too 
late.  And  hark!  Steps  on  the  stair,  and  Sonny  prat- 
tling on  in  his  high,  clear  lisp!  Not  one  step,  but  two; 
and  voices.  A  visitor  no  doubt.  Sometimes,  to  avoid 
suspicion,  it  was  necessary  to  bring  them  in.  She  knew 
the  routine.  The  modest  claim  for  seclusion  to  her 
supposed  husband  in  Persian,  the  leaving  of  the  door  on 
the  latch,  the  swift  retreat  into  the  inner  roof  during  the 
interval  decorously  allowed  for  such  escape.  All  this 
was  easy  without  Sonny.  The  only  chance  now  was  to 
stop  his  prattle  even  by  force,  give  the  excuse  that  other 
women  were  within,  and  trust  to  a  man's  quickness 
outside. 

Vain  hope!  Sonny  wriggled  like  an  eel,  and,  just  as 
the  expected  knock  came,  evaded  her  silencing  hand,  so 
that  the  roof  rang  with  outraged  yells : 

"  Oh!  'oo's  hurtin'  me!     Oo's  hurt'n'  me!" 

Without  the  words  even,  the  sound  was  unmistakable. 
No  native  child  was  ever  so  ear-piercing,  so  wildly  indig- 
nant. Kate,  beside  herself,  tried  soothings  and  force 
distractedly,  in  the  midst  of  which  an  imperative  voice 
called  fiercely: 

"  Open  the  door  quick,  for  God's  sake!  Anything's 
better  than  that." 

For  the  moment,  doubtless,  Sonny's  yells  ending  with 
victory;  but  another  cry  came  sharp  and  short,  as^the 
door  giving  under  Kate's  hasty  fingers — two  men 
tumbled  over  the  threshold.  Jim  Douglas  uppermost, 
his  hands  gripping  the  other's  throat. 

"  Shut  the  door!  "  he  gasped.  "  Lock  it.  Then  my 
revolver — no — a  knife — no  noise — quick.  I  can't  hold — 
the  brute  long." 

Kate  turned  and  ran  mechanically,  and  the  steel  in  her 
hand  gleamed  as  she  flew  back.     Jim  Douglas,  digging 


352  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

his  knees  into  the  ribs  below  them,  loosened  one  hand 
cautiously  from  the  throat  and  held  it  out,  trembling, 
eager. 

But  Kate  saw  his  face.  It  might  have  been  the  Gor- 
gon's, for  she  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool!  "  he  panted — "  give  it  me!     It's  the 

only "     A  sudden  twist  beneath  him  sent  his  hand 

back  to  the  throat.     "  It's — it's  death  anyway " 

Death!  What  did  that  matter?  she  asked  herself. 
Let  it  come,  rather  than  murder! 

"  No!"  she  said  suddenly,  "you  shall  not.  It  is  not 
worth  it."  The  knife,  fiung  backward,  fell  with  a  clang, 
but  the  eyes  which — though  that  choking  grip  on  the 
throat  made  all  things  dim — had  been  fixed  on  its  gleam, 
turned  swiftly  to  those  above  them  and  the  writhing  body 
lay  still  as  a  corpse.  None  too  soon,  for  Jim  Douglas 
was  almost  spent. 

"  A  rope,"  he  muttered  briefly,  "  or  stav,  vour  veil  will 
do." 

But  Kate,  trembling  with  the  great  passion  and  pity  of 
her  decision,  had  scarce  removed  it  ere  Jim  Douglas, 
changing  his  mind,  rose  to  his  feet,  leaving  his  antago- 
nist free  to  do  so  likewise. 

"  Get  up,  Tiddu,"  he  said  breathlessly,  "  and  thank  the 
mem  for  saving  your  life.  But  the  door's  locked,  and  if 
you  don't  swear " 

"  The  Huzoor  need  not  threaten,"  retorted  Tiddu,  far 
more  calmly  as  he  retwisted  his  rag  of  a  turban.  "  The 
Many-Faced  know  gratitude.  They  do  not  fall  on  those 
who  find  them  helpless  and  protect  them." 

The  thrust  was  keen,  for  in  truth  the  old  Baharupa 
had,  not  half  an  hour  before,  by  sheer  chance  found  his 
pupil  in  difficulties  and  insisted  on  seeing  him  safe  home, 
and  on  his  promising  not  to  go  out  again  till  he  was 
stronger;  to  both  of  which  coercions  Jim  Douglas,  in 
order  to  evade  suspicion,  had  consented.  Yet,  but  for 
Kate,  he  would  have  knifed  the  old  man  remorselessly. 
Even  now  he  felt  doubtful. 

Tiddu,  however,  saved  him  further  anxiety  by  stepping 
close  to  Kate  and  salaaming  theatrically. 

''  By  Murri-am  and  the  neem,  the  mem  is  as  my 
mother,  the  child  as  mv  child." 


THE  DRUM  ECCLESIASTIC.  353 

So,  for  the  first  time,  both  he  and  Jim  Douglas  looked 
toward  Sonny,  who,  with  wide-planted  legs  and  wonder- 
ing eyes,  had  been  watching  Tiddu  solemnly;  the 
quaintest  little  figure  with  his  red  and  white  cheeks  and 
black  muzzle. 

The  old  mime  burst  into  a  guffaw.  "  Wahl  what  a 
monkeyling!  Wdhl  what  a  tamasha  "  (spectacle),  he 
cried,  squatting  down  on  his  heels  to  look  closer.  In 
truth  Sonny  was  like  a  hill  baboon,  especially  when  he 
smiled  too;  broadly,  expectantly,  at  the  familiar  word. 

"  Tamaflid-zcallah!  "  he  said  superbly,  "  biinao  ramdtha. 
jiildi  hunao!  "  (Make  an  amusement;  make  it  quick.) 

Tiddu,  a  child  himself  like  all  his  race  in  his  delight  in 
children,  a  child  also  in  his  capacity  of  sudden  serenity, 
caught  up  Kate's  fallen  veil,  and  in  an  instant  dashed 
into  the  hackneyed  part  of  the  daughter-in-law,  while 
Kate  and  Jim  Douglas  stared;  left  behind,  as  it  were,  by 
this  strange  irresponsible  pair — the  mimic  of  life,  and  the 
child  ignorant  of  what  was  mimicked.  Tragedy  a  min- 
ute ago!  Now  Farce!  They  looked  at  each  other, 
startled,  for  sympathy. 

"  Make  a  funny  man  now,"  came  Sonny's  confident 
voice,  "  a  funny  man  behind  a  curtain — a  funny  man — 
wif  a  gween  face  an"  a  white  face,  an'  a  lot  of  fwowers  an' 
a  bit  o'  tring." 

Tiddu  looked  round  quickly  at  Jim  Douglas.  "  Wah!  " 
he  said,  "the  little  Huzoor  has. a  good  memory.  He 
remembers  the  Lord  of  Life  and  Death." 

But  Kate  had  remembered  it  too,  and  she  also  had 
turned  to  Jim  Douglas  passionately,  almost  accusingly. 
"  It  was  you!  You  were  Fate — you Ah!  I  under- 
stand now!  " 

"  Do  you?  "  he  answered  with  a  frown.  "  Then  it's 
more  than  I  do."  He  walked  away  moodily  toward  the 
knife  Kate  had  flung  away,  and  stooped  to  pick  it  up. 
"  But  you  were  right  in  what  you  did.  It  was  an  inspira- 
tion.    Look  there!  " 

He  pointed  to  the  old  Baharupa,  who  was  playing 
antics  to  amuse  Sonny,  w'ho  lisped,  "  TJin  bdfh!" 
(bravo!)  solemnly  at  each  fresh  effort.  But  Kate 
shivered.  "  I  did  nothing.  I  thought  I  did;  but  it  was 
Fate." 


354  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

"  My  dear  lady,"  he  retorted  with  a  kindly  smile,  "  it 
is  all  in  the  nature  of  dreams.  The  convalescent  home 
is  turned  into  a  creche.     But  we  must  transfigure  the 

street  urchin  into  the  darling  of  his  parents'  hearts '' 

He  paused  and  looked  at  Kate  queerly.  "  I'll  tell  Tara 
to  rig  him  out  properly;  and  you  must  take  of¥  half  the 
stain,  you  know,  and   leave  some  color  on   his  cheeks; 

for  he  must  play  the  part  as  well  as "     He  laughed 

suddenly.  "  It  is  really  more  dream-like  than  ever!  "  he 
added.     And  Kate  thought  so  too. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

vox    HUMANA. 

The  five  days  following  on  the  2d  of  August  were  a 
time  of  festivity  for  the  Camp,  a  time  of  funerals  for  the 
City.  There  was  a  break  in  the  rains,  and  on  the  Ridge 
the  sunshine  fell  in  floods  upon  the  fresh  green  grass, 
and  the  air,  bright  and  cool,  set  men's  minds  toward  mak- 
ing the  best  of  Nature's  kindness;  for  she  had  been  kind, 
indeed,  to  the  faithful  little  colony,  and  few  even  of  the 
seniors  could  remember  a  season  so  favorable  in  every 
way.  And  so  the  messes  talked  of  games,  of  races;  and 
men,  fresh  from  seeing  their  fellows  killed  by  balls  on  one 
side  of  the  Ridge,  joined  those  who,  on  the  other  side, 
were  crying  "Well  bowled!"  as  wickets  went  down  be- 
fore other  balls. 

But  in  the  city  the  unswept  alleys  fermented  and  fes- 
tered in  the  vapors  and  odors  which  rose  from  the  great 
mass  of  humanity  pent  within  the  rose-red  walls.  For 
the  gates  had  been  closed  strictly  save  for  those  with  per- 
mits to  come  and  go.  This  was  Bukht  Khan's  policy. 
Delhi  was  to  stand  or  fall  as  one  man.  There  was  to  be 
no  sneaking  away  while  yet  there  was  time.  So  hun- 
dreds of  sepoys  protesting  illness,  hunger,  urgent  private 
affairs — every  possible  excuse  for  getting  leave — were 
told  that  if  they  would  not  fight  they  could  sulk.  Starve 
thev  might,  stav  thev  should.     The  other  Commanders- 


FOX  HUMANA.  355 

in-Qiief,  it  is  true,  spent  money  in  bribing  mercenaries 
for  one  week's  more  fighting;  but  Bukht  Khan  only 
smiled  sardonically.  He  had  tried  bugles  and  fifes,  he 
had  tried  the  drum-ecclesiastic;  he  was  now  trying  his 
last  stop.     The  vox  liiimaiia  of  self-preservation. 

In  the  city  itself,  however,  the  preservation  of  life  took 
for  the  present  another  form,  and  never  within  the 
memory  of  man  had  there  been  such  a  pounding  of  pes- 
tles and  mortars  over  leaf-poultices.  The  sound  of  it 
rose  up  at  dawn  and  eve  like  the  sound  of  the  querns, 
mingling  with  the  vox  hiimana  of  grief  as  the  eastern  and 
southern  gates  were  set  wide  to  let  the  dead  pass  out,  and 
allow  the  stores  for  the  living  to  pass  in. 

It  formed  a  background  to  the  gossip  at  the  wells 
where  the  women  met  to  draw  water. 

"  Faiz-Ahmed  found  freedom  at  dawn,"  said  one  be- 
tween her  yawns.  "  He  was  long  in  the  throes.  The 
bibis  made  a  great  wailing,  so  I  could  not  even  sleep 
since  then.  There  are  no  sons,  see  you,  and  no  money 
now  the  old  man's  annuity  is  gone." 

"  Loh,  sister!  "  retorted  another,  "thou  speakest  as  if 
death  were  a  morsel  of  news  to  let  dissolve  on  the  tongue. 
There  be  plenty  such  soppets  in  Delhi,  and  if  I  know 
aught  of  wounds  there  will  be  another  at  nightfall.  My 
mistress  wastes  time  in  the  pounding  of  simples,  and  I 
waste  time  in  waiting  for  them  till  my  turn  comes  at  the 
shop;  for  if  it  be  not  gangrened, T  have  no  eyes."  The 
speaker  jerked  her  pot  to  her  shoulder  deftly  and  passed 
down  the  alley. 

"  Juntu  is  wise  in  such  matters,"  said  a  worn-looking 
woman  with  sad  eyes;  "  I  must  get  her  to  glance  at  my 
man's  cut.  'Tis  right  to  my  mind — he  will  put  naught 
but  water  to  it,  aft'^r  some  foreign  fashion — but  who  can 
tell  these  times?  " 

"  Save  that  none  pass  their  day,  sister.  Death  will 
come  of  the  Great  Sickness,  or  the  wound,  as  it  chooses," 
put  in  a  half-starved  soul  who  had  to  carry  a  baby  besides 
her  pot.  "  The  cholera  rages  in  our  alley.  'Tis  the 
smell.     None  sweep  the  streets  or  flush  the  gutters  now." 

"  Ari,  Fukra!  "  cried  a  fierce  virago,  '"  thou  art  a  traitor 
at  heart!     She  bewails  the  pig-eating  infidels  who  gave 


35^  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

her  man  five  rupees  a  month  to  bring  water  to  the  drains. 
Ai  teri!  If  they  saved  one  Hfe  from  good  cholera,  have 
they  not  reft  a  hundred  in  exchange  from  widows  and 
orphans?     Oo-ai-ie-ee!  " 

Her  howHng  wail,  like  a  jackal's,  was  caught  up  whim- 
peringly by  the  others;  and  so  they  passed  on  with  their 
water  pots,  to  spread  through  the  city  the  tale  of  Faiz- 
Ahmed's  freedom,  Juntu's  suspicions  of  gangrene,  and 
Karuna  the  butcher's  big  wife's  retort.  And,  in  the  even- 
ing, folk  gathered  at  the  gates,  and  talked  over  it  all 
again  as  the  funerals  passed  out;  old  Faiz-Ahmed,  in  his 
new  gold  shoes,  looking  better  as  a  corpse,  tied  up  in  tin- 
sel, than  as  a  martyr,  so  the  spectators  agreed.  Whereat 
his  family  had  their  glow  of  pride  also. 

Then,  when  the  show  was  over,  the  crowd  dispersed 
to  pay  visits  of  condolence,  and  raise  the  wailing  vox 
humana  in  every  alley. 

Greatly  to  Jim  Douglas'  relief,  for  there  was  another 
voice  dif^cult  to  keep  quiet  when  the  cool  evenings  came, 
and  all  Kate's  replies  in  Hindustani  would  not  beguile 
Sonny's  tongue  from  English.  He  was  the  quaintest 
mother's  darling  now,  in  a  little  tinsel  cap  fringed  with 
brown  silk  tassels  hiding  that  dreadful  gangway,  anklets, 
and  bracelets  on  his  bare  corn-colored  limbs,  the  ruddy 
color  showing  through  the  dye  on  his  cheeks,  his  palms 
all  henna-stained,  his  eyes  blackened  with  kohl,  and  a 
variety  of  little  tinsel  and  brocaded  cootees  ending  far 
above  his  dimpled  knees.  There  were  little  muslin  and 
net  ones  too,  cunningly  streaked  with  silver  and  gold, 
for  Tara  was  reckless  over  the  boy.  She  insisted,  too, 
on  a  great  black  smudge  on  his  forehead  to  keep  away  the 
evil  eye;  and  Soma,  coming  now  with  the  greatest  regu- 
larity, brought  odd  little  coral  and  grass  necklets  such 
as  Rajpoot  bairns  ought  to  wear;  while  Tiddu,  the 
child's  great  favorite,  had  a  new  toy  every  day  for  the 
little  Huzoor.  Paper  whirligigs,  cotton-wool  bears  on 
a  stick,  mud  parrots,  and  such  like,  whereat  Sonny  would 
lisp,  "  Tha  bath,  Tiddu."  Though  sometimes  he  would 
go  over  to  Kate  and  ask  appealingly,  "  Aliffis  Erlton! 
What  has  a-come  of  my  polly?" 

Then  she,  startled  into  realities  by  the  words,  would 


vox  HUMANA.  357 

catch  him  up  in  her  arms,  and  look  around  as  if  for  pro- 
tection to  Jim  Douglas,  who,  having  overdone  himself 
in  the  struggle  with  Tiddu,  had  felt  it  wiser  to  defer  fur- 
ther action  for  a  day  or  two.  The  more  so  because  Tiddu 
had  promised  to  help  him  to  the  uttermost  if  he  would 
only  be  reasonable  and  leave  times  and  seasons  to  one 
who  had  ten  times  the  choice  that  he  had. 

So  he  would  smile  back  at  Kate  and  say,  "  It's  all 
right,  Mrs.  Erlton.  At  least  as  right  as  it  can  be.  The 
lot  of  them  are  devoted  to  the  child." 

Yet  in  his  heart  he  knew  that  there  was  danger  in  so 
many  confederates.  He  felt  that  this  incredibly  peaceful 
home  on  the  housetop  could  not  last.  Here  he  was  look- 
ing at  a  woman  who  was  not  his  wife,  a  child  who  was  not 
his  child,  and  feeling  vaguely  that  they  were  as  much  a 
part  of  his  life  as  if  they  were.  As  if,  had  they  been 
so,  he  would  have  been  quite  contented.  Alore  contented 
than  he  had  been  on  that  other  roof.  He  was,  even  now, 
more  contented  than  he  had  been  there.  As  he  sat,  his 
head  on  his  hand,  watching  the  pretty  picture  which  Kate. 
in  Zora's  jewels,  made  with  the  be-tinseled,  be-scented, 
bedecked  child,  he  thought  of  his  relief  when  years  before 
he  had  looked  at  a  still  little  morsel  lying  in  Zora's  veil. 
Had  it  been  brutal  of  him?  Would  that  dead  baby  have 
grown  into  a  Sonny?  Or  was  it  because  Sonny's  skin 
was  really  white  beneath  the  stain  that  he  thought  of  him 
as  something  to  be  proud  of  possessing;  of  a  boy  who 
would. go  to  school  and  be  fagged  and  flogged  and  inherit 
familiar  virtues  and  vices  instead  of  strange  ones? 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Mr.  Greyman?  Do  you 
want  anything?  "  came  Kate's  kind  voice. 

"  X'othing,"  he  replied  in  the  half-bantering  tone  he  so 
often  used  toward  her;  "  I  have  more  than  my  fair  share 
of  things  already,  surely!  I  was  only  meditating  on  the 
word  '  Om  ' — the  final  mystery  of  all  things." 

So,  in  a  way,  he  was.  On  the  mystery  of  fatherhood 
and  motherhood,  which  had  nothing  to  do  with  that  pure 
idyl  of  romantic  passion  on  the  terraced  roof  at  Lucknow, 
yet  which  seemed  to  touch  him  here,  where  there  was  not 
even  love.  Yet  it  was  a  better  thing.  The  passion  of 
protection,  of  absolute  self-forgetfulness,  seeking  no  re- 


35^  ON    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

ward,  which  the  sight  of  those  two  raised  in  him,  was  a 
better  thing  than  that  absorption  in  another  self.  The 
thought  made  him  cross  over  to  where  Kate  sat  with  the 
child  in  her  lap,  and  say  gravely: 

"  The  creche  is  more  interesting  than  the  convales- 
cent home,  at  least  to  me,  Mrs.  Erlton !  I  shall  be  ciuite 
sorry  when  it  ends." 

"  When  it  ends?  "  she  echoed  quickly.  "  There  is  noth- 
ing wrong,  is  there?  Sonny  has  been  so  good,  and  that 
time  when  he  was  naughty  the  sweeper-woman  seemed 
quite  satisfied  when  Tara  said  he  was  speaking  Pushtoo." 

"  But  it  cannot  last  for  all  that,"  he  replied.  "  It  is 
dangerous.  I  feel  it  is.  This  is  the  5th,  and  I  am  nearly 
all  right.  I  must  get  Tiddu  to  arrange  for  Sonny  first. 
Then  for  you." 

"  And  you?  "  she  asked. 

"  I'll  follow.  It  will  be  safer,  and  there  is  no  fear  for 
me.  I  can't  vmderstand  why  I've  had  no  answer  from 
your  husband.  The  letter  went  two  days  ago,  and  I  am 
convinced  we  ought." 

The  frown  was  back  on  his  face,  the  restlessness  in  his 
brain;  and  both  grew  when  in  private  talk  with  Tiddu 
the  latter  hinted  at  suspicions  in  the  caravan  which  had 
made  it  necessary  for  him  to  be  very  cautious.  The  let- 
ter, therefore,  had  certainly  been  delayed,  might  never 
have  reached.  If  no  answer  came  by  the  morrow,  he 
himself  would  take  the  opportunity  of  a  portion  of  the 
caravan  having  a  permit  to  pass  out,  and  so  insure  the 
news  reaching  the  Ridge;  trusting  to  get  into  the  city 
again  without  delay,  though  the  gates  were  very  strictly 
kept.  Nevertheless,  in  his  opinion,  the  Huzoor  would 
be  wiser  with  patience.  There  was  no  immediate  danger 
in  continuing  as  they  were,  and  the  end  could  not  be 
long  if  it  were  true  that  the  great  Nikalseyn  was  with 
the  Punjab  reinforcements.  Since  all  the  world  knew 
that  Nikalseyn  was  the  prince  of  sahibs,  having  the  gift, 
not  only  of  being  all  things  to  all  people,  but  of  making 
all  people  be  all  things  to  him.  which  was  more  than  the 
Baharupas  could  do. 

In  truth,  the  news  that  John  Nicholson  was  coming  to 
Delhi  made  even  Jim  Douglas  hesitate  at  risking  any- 


FOX   HUMANA.  359 

tiling  unnecessarily,  so  long  as  things  went  smoothly. 
As  for  the  letter  to  ^Nlajor  Krlton,  it  was  no  doubt  true 
that  the  number  of  spies  sending  information  to  the 
Ridge  had  made  it  difficult  of  late  to  send  any,  since  the 
guards  were  on  the  alert. 

It  was,  indeed,  even  for  the  Queen  herself,  who  had  a 
missive  she  was  peculiarly  anxious  should  not  fall  into 
strange  hands. 

"  1  here  is  no  fear.  Ornament  of  Palaces,"  said  Ahsan- 
Oolah  urbanely;  "  I  will  stake  my  life  on  its  reaching." 
He  did  not  add  that  his  chief  reason  for  saying  so  was 
that  a  similar  letter,  written  by  the  King,  had  been  safely 
delivered  by  Rujjub  Ali,  the  spy,  whose  house  lay  conven- 
iently near  the  physician's  own,  and  from  whom  both  the 
latter  and  Elahi-Buksh  heard  authentic  news  from  the 
Ridge.  News  which  made  them  both  pity  the  poor  old 
pantaloon  who,  as  they  knew  well,  had  been  a  mere  pup- 
pet in  stronger  hands.  And  these  two,  laying  their  heads 
together,  in  one  of  those  kaleidoscope  combinations  of  in- 
trigue which  made  Delhi  politics  a  puzzle  even  at  the  time, 
advised  the  King  to  use  the  vox  celeste  as  an  antidote  to  the 
vox  hiimana  of  the  city,  which  was  being  so  diligently  fos- 
tered by  the  Queen  and  Bukht  Khan.  Let  him  say  he 
was  too  old  for  this  world,  let  him  profess  himself  unable 
longer  to  cope  with  his  coercers  and  claim  to  be  allowed 
to  resign  and  become  a  fakir!  But  the  dream  still  lin- 
gered in  the  old  man's  brain.  He  loved  the  brocaded 
bags,  he  loved  the  new  cushion  of  the  Peacock  throne; 
and  though  the  cockatoo's  crest  was  once  more  showing 
a  yellow  tinge  through  the  green,  the  thought  of  jehad 
lingered  sanctimoniously.  But  other  folk  in  the  Palace 
were  beginning  to  awake.  Other  people  in  Delhi  besides 
Tiddu  had  heard  that  Xikalseyn  was  on  his  way  from  the 
Punjab  and  not  even  the  rose-red  walls  had  been  able  to 
keep  out  his  reputation.  Folk  talked  of  him  in  whispers. 
The  soldiers,  unable  to  retreat,  unwilling  to  fight,  swore 
loudly  that  they  were  betrayed ;  that  there  were  too  many 
spies  in  the  city.  Of  that  there  could  be  no  doubt. 
Were  not  letters  found  concealed  in  innocent  looking 
cakes  and  such  like?  Had  not  one,  vaguely  suggesting 
that  some  cursed  infidels  were  still  concealed  in  the  city, 


360  ox    THE    FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

been  brought  in  for  reward  by  a  Bunjarah  who  swore  he 
had  picked  it  up  by  chance?  The  tales  grew  by  the 
telhng  in  the  Thunbi  Bazaar,  making  Prince  Abool-Bukr, 
who  had  returned  to  it  incontinently  after  the  disastrous 
failure  of  faith  on  the  2d,  hiccough  magnificently  that, 
poor  as  he  was,  he  would  give  ten  golden  mohurs  to  any- 
one who  would  set  him  on  the  track  of  a  hell-doomed. 
Yea!  folk  might  laugh,  but  he  was  good  for  ten  still. 
Ay!  and  a  rupee  besides,  to  have  the  ofTer  cried  through 
the  bazaar ;  so  there  would  be  an  end  to  scoffers ! 

"  What  is't? "  asked  the  languid  loungers  in  the 
wooden  balconies,  as  the  drum  came  beating  down  the 
street. 

"  Only  Abool  offering  ten  mohurs  for  a  Christian  to 
kill,"  said  one. 

"  And  he  swore  he  had  not  a  rupee  when  I  danced  for 
him  but  yesterday,"  said  another. 

"  He  has  to  pay  Newasi,  sister,"  yawned  a  third. 

"  Then  let  her  dance  for  him — I  do  it  no  longer,"  re- 
torted the  grumbler. 

So  the  crier  and  his  drums  passed  down  the  scoffing 
bazaar.  "  He  will  find  many  at  that  price,"  quoth  some, 
winking  at  their  neighbors;  for  the  Prince  was  a  butt 
when  in  his  cups. 

Thus  at  earliest  dawn  next  morning,  the  7th  of  August, 
Tiddu  gave  a  signal  knock  at  the  door  of  the  roof,  rousing 
Jim  Douglas  who,  since  the  child's  arrival,  had  taken  to 
sleeping  across  it  once  more. 

"  There  is  danger  in  the  air,  Huzoor,"  he  said  briefly; 
"  they  cried  a  reward  for  the  infidels  in  the  bazaar  yester- 
day.    There  is  talk  of  some  letter." 

"  The  child  must  go — go  at  once,"  replied  his  hearer, 
alert  in  an  instant;  but  Tiddu  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  till  dark,  Huzoor.  The  bullocks  are  to  pass  out 
with  the  moon,  and  he  must  pass  out  with  them.  In  a 
sack,  Huzoor.  Say  nothing  till  the  last.  Then,  the 
Huzoor  knows, the  cloth  merchant's  by  the  Delhi  gate?" 

Jim  Douglas  nodded. 

"  There  is  a  court  at  the  back.  The  bullocks  are  there, 
for  we  are  taking  cloth  the  Lala  wants  to  smuggle  out. 
A  length  or  two  in  each  empty  sack;  for  he  hath  been 


vox  HUMANA.  361 

looted  beyond  limits.  So  he  will  have  no  eyes,  nor  the 
caravan  either,  for  secret  work  in  dark  corners.  Bring 
the  boy  drugged  as  he  came  here,  the  Rajpootni  will 
carry  the  bundle  as  a  spinner,  to  the  third  door  down  the 
lane.  "  'Tis  an  empty  yard;  I  will  have  the  bullock  there 
with  the  half-load  of  raw  cotton.  \\'e  have  two  or  three 
more  as  foils  to  the  empty  bags.  Come  as  a  Bunjarah, 
then  the  Huzoor  can  see  the  last  of  the  child,  and  see  old 
Tiddu's  loyalty." 

The  familiar  whine  came  back  to  his  voice;  he  could 
scarcely  resist  a  thrust  forward  of  his  open  hand.  But 
dignity  or  no  dignity,  Jim  Douglas  knew  that  itching 
palm  well,  and  said  significantly: 

"  It  will  be  worth  a  thousand  rupees  to  you,  Tiddu, 
if  the  child  gets  safe." 

A  look  of  ofifended  virtue  came  over  the  smooth  face. 

"  This  slave  is  not  thinking  of  money.  The  child  is 
as  his  own  child."' 

"  And  the  mem  as  your  mother,  remember,"  put  in 
the  other  quickly. 

Tiddu  hesitated.  "  If  his  servant  saves  the  baba,  can- 
not the  master  save  the  lady?  "  he  said  with  the  efifrontery 
of  a  child  trying  how  far  he  might  go ;  but  Jim  Douglas' 
revolver  was  out  in  a  second,  and  Tiddu,  with  an  air  of 
injured  innocence,  went  on  without  a  pause: 

"  The  mem  will  be  safe  enough,  Huzoor,  when  the 
child  is  gone,  if  the  Huzoor  will  himself  remain  day  and 
night  to  answer  for  the  screened,  sick  woman  within. 
His  slave  will  be  back  by  dawn ;  and  if  he  smells  trouble, 
the  mem  must  be  moved  in  a  dhoolie  to  another  house, 
the  Rajpootni  must  go  home,  and  I  will  be  mother-in- 
law.     I  can  play  the  part,  Huzoor." 

He  could  indeed!  If  Kate  were  to  be  safe  anywhere, 
it  would  be  with  this  old  scoundrel  with  his  thousand- 
faces,  his  undoubted  gift  for  influencing  the  eyes  of  men. 
Three  days  of  passing  from  one  place  to  another,  with 
him  in  some  new  character,  and  their  traces  must  be  lost. 
A  good  plan  certainly! 

"And  there  is  no  danger  to-day?"  he  asked  finally. 

Tiddu  paused  again,  and  his  luminous  eyes  sought  the 
sahib's,     "  Who  can  say  that,  Huzoor,  for  a  mem,  in  this 


362  ON   THE  FACE    OF   THE    WATERS. 

city.  But  J  think  none.  We  can  do  no  more,  danger 
or  not.  And  I  will  watch.  And  see,  here  is  the  dream- 
giver.     The  Rajpootni  will  know  the  dose  for  the  child." 

The  dream-giver!  All  that  day  the  little  screw  of 
paper  Tiddu  had  taken  from  his  waistbelt  lay  in  a  fold 
of  Jim  Douglas'  high-twined  pugri,  and  its  contents 
seemed  to  make  him  dull.  Not  that  it  mattered,  since 
there  was  literally  nothing  to  be  done  before  dusk;  for 
it  would  be  cruel  to  tell  Kate  and  keep  her  on  tenter- 
hooks all  day  to  no  purpose.  But  after  a  while  she 
noticed  his  dullness,  and  came  over  to  where  he  sat,  his 
head  on  his  hand,  in  his  favorite  attitude. 

"  I  believe  you  are  going  to  have  fever  and  ague 
again,"  she  said  solicitously ;  "do  take  some  aconite;  if 
we  could  only  get  some  quinine,  that  would  end  the  tire- 
some thing  at  once." 

He  took  some  to  please  her,  and  because  her  sugges- 
tion gave  him  a  reasonable  excuse  for  being  slack;  but  as 
he  lounged  about  lazily,  watching  her  playing  with  the 
boy,  seeing  her  put  him  to  sleep  as  the  heat  of  the  day 
came  on,  noting  the  cheerful  content  with  which  she 
adapted  herself  to  a  simplicity  of  life  unknown  to  her 
three  months  before,  the  wonder  of  the  circumstances 
which  had  led  to  it  faded  in  the  regret  that  it  should  be 
coming  to  an  end.  It  had  been  three  months  of  incredi- 
ble peace  and  good-will ;  and  to-day  the  peace  and  good- 
will seemed  to  strike  him  all  the  more  keenly  because  he 
knew  that  in  an  hour  or  so  at  most  he  must  disturb  it. 
It  seemed  hard. 

But  something  else  began  the  task  for  him.  About 
sunset  a  sudden  flash  dazzled  his  eyes,  and  ere  he  grasped 
its  vividness  the  walls  were  rocking  silently,  and  a  second 
after  a  roar  as  of  a  thousand  thunder-claps  deafened  his 
ears.  Kate  had  Sonny  in  her  arms  ere  he  could  reach 
her,  thrusting  her  away  from  the  high  parapet  wall, 
which,  in  one  already  cracked  corner,  looked  as  if  it  must 
come  down;  which  did  indeed  crumble  outward,  leaving 
a  jagged  gap  halfway  down  its  height,  the  debris  falling 
with  a  rattle  on  the  roof  of  the  next  house. 

But  ere  the  noise  ended  the  vibration  had  passed,  leav- 


FOX  HUMANA.  Z^^l 

ing  him  with  rehef  on  his  face  looking  at  a  great  mush- 
room of  smoke  and  steam  which  had  shot  up  mto  the  sky. 

"  It's  the  powder  factory!  "  he  exclaimed,  using  Hindu- 
stani for  Tara's  benefit  as  well,  since  she  had  rushed  in 
from  the  outer  court  at  the  first  hint  of  danger  to  cling 
round  his  feet.  "  It  is  all  over  now,  but  it's  lucky  we 
were  no  nearer." 

As  he  spoke  he  was  wondering  if  this  would  make  any 
difference  in  Tiddu's  plans  for  the  night,  since  the  powder 
factory  had  stood  equa-distant  between  them  and  the 
Delhi  gate.  He  wondered  also  what  had  caused  the  ex- 
plosion. Xot  a  shell  certainly.  The  factory  had  pur- 
posely been  placed  at  the  furthest  point  from  the  Ridge. 
However,  there  was  a  fine  supply  of  powder  gone,  and, 
he  hoped,  a  few  mutineers.  But  Kate's  mind  had  re- 
verted to  that  other  explosion  which  had  been  the  pro- 
logue to  the  three  months  of  peace  and  cjuiet.  Was  this 
one  to  be  the  epilogue?  A  vague  dread,  a  sudden  pre- 
monition made  her  ask  quickly : 

"  Can  it  mean  anything  serious?  Can  anything  be 
the  matter,  Mr.  Greyman?     Is  anything  wrong?  " 

It  was  a  trifle  early,  he  thought.  She  might  have  had 
another  half  hour  or  so.  But  this  was  a  good  beginning, 
or  rather  a  fitting  end. 

"And  you  have  known  this  all  day?"  she  said  re- 
proachfully when  he  told  her  the  truth.  "  How  unkind 
of  you  not  to  tell  me !  " 

"Unkind!"  he  echoed.     "  \\'hat  possible  good " 

"  I  should  have  known  it  was  the  last  day — I — I  should 
have  made  the — the  most  of  it." 

He  felt  glad  of  his  own  impatience  of  the  sentimentality 
as  he  turned  away,  for  in  truth  the  look  on  her  face  hit 
him  hard.  It  sent  him  to  pace  up  and  down  the  outer 
roof  resting  till  the  time  for  action  came.  Then  he  had  a 
whispered  consultation  with  Tara  regarding  the  dose  of 
raw  opium  safe  for  a  child  of  Sonny's  years. 

"Are  you  sure  that  is  not  too  much?"  he  asked 
anxiously. 

Tara  looked  at  the  little  black  pellet  she  was  rolling 
gravely.     "  It  is  large,  Huzoor,  but  it  is  for  life  or  death; 


364  ON   THE  FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

and  if  it  was  the  Huzoor's  own  son  I  would  give  no 
less." 

Once  more  the  remembrance  of  the  still  little  morsel 
in  Zora's  tinsel  veil  brought  an  odd  compunction;  the 
very  possibility  of  this  strange  child's  death  roused 
greater  pain  than  that  certainty  had  done.  He  felt  un- 
nerved at  the  responsibility;  but  Kate,  looking  up  as  he 
rejoined  her,  held  out  her  hand  without  a  tremor. 

"  Give  it  me,  please,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was 
steady  also;  "  he  will  take  it  best  from  me.  I  have  some 
sugar  here." 

The  child,  drowsy  already  with  the  near  approach  of 
bedtime,  was  in  her  lap,  and  rested  its  head  on  her  breast, 
as  with  her  arms  still  round  him  her  hands  disguised  the 
drug. 

"  It  is  a  very  large  dose,"  she  said  dully.  "  I  knew 
it  must  be;  that's  why  I  w'anted  to  give  it — myself. 
Sonny!  Open  your  mouth,  darling — it's  sweet — there — 
swallow  it  quick — that's  a  good  Sonnikins." 

"  You  are  ver}^  brave,"  he  said  with  a  catch  in  his 
voice. 

She  glanced  up  at  him  for  a  second  with  a  sort  of 
scorn  in  her  eyes.  "  I  knew  he  W'Ould  take  it  from  me," 
she  replied,  and  then,  shifting  the  child  to  an  easier 
position,  began  to  sing  in  a  half  voice: 

' '  There  is  a  happy  land " 

"  Far — farze — away,"  echoed  Sonny  contentedly.  It 
was  his  usual  lullaby,  chosen  because  it  resembled  a 
native  air,  beloved  of  ayahs. 

And  as  she  sang  and  Sonny's  eyelids  drooped  the  man 
watched  them  both  with  a  tender  awe  in  his  heart ;  and  the 
other  woman,  crouching  in  the  corner,  watched  all  three 
with  hungry,  passionate  eyes.  Here,  in  this  group  of 
man,  woman,  and  child,  without  a  personal  claim  on  each 
other,  was  something  new,  half  incomprehensible,  w'holly 
sweet. 

"  He  is  asleep  now,"  said  Kate  after  a  time.  "  You  had 
better  take  him." 

He  stooped  to  obey,  and  she  stooped  also  to  leave  a 
long,  lingering  kiss  on  the  boy's  soft  cheek.     It  sent  a 


yOX  HUMANA.  3^5 

thrill  through  the  man  as  he  recognized  that  in  giving 
him  the  child  she  had  given  him  more  than  kisses. 

The  feeling  that  it  was  so  made  him  linger  a  few  min- 
utes afterward  at  the  door  with  a  new  sense  of  his  re- 
sponsibilities toward  her  to  say: 

"  I  wish  I  had  not  to  leave  you  alone." 

"  You  will  be  back  directly,  and  I  shall  be  all  right," 
she  said,  pausing  in  her  closing  of  the  door,  for  Tara  had 
already  passed  down  the  stair  with  her  bundle. 

"  Shall  I  lock  it  outside?  "  he  began.  Tara  and  he  had 
been  used  to  do  so  in  those  first  days  when  they  left  her. 

She  laid  her  hand  lightly  on  his  arm.  "  Don't,"  she 
said,  ''  don't  get  anxious  about  me  again.  What  can 
happen  in  half  an  hour?  " 

He  heard  her  slip  the  catch  on  the  staple,  however, 
before  he  ran  downstairs.  He  was  to  take  a  different 
road  to  the  Delhi  gate  from  the  quiet,  more  devious 
alleys  wdiich  Tara  would  choose  in  her  character  of  poor 
spinner  carrying  her  raw  stuff  home.  She  was  to  await 
his  arrival,  to  deposit  the  bundle  somewdiere  close  to 
the  third  door  in  the  back  lane  by  the  cloth  mer- 
chant's shop,  leaving  it  to  him  to  take  inside,  as  if  he 
were  one  of  the  caravan;  this  plan  insuring  two  things — 
immunity  from  notice  in  the  streets,  and  also  in  the 
yard.  But,  as  Tara  would  be  longer  than  he  by  a 
few  minutes  in  reaching  the  tryst,  he  purposely  went 
through  a  bit  of  the  Thunbi  Bazaar  to  hear  what  he 
could  of  the  explosion.  He  was  surprised — a  trifle 
alarmed — at  the  excitement.  Crowds  were  gathered 
round  many  of  the  balconies,  talking  of  spies,  swearing 
that  half  the  court  was  in  league  with  the  Ridge,  and  that, 
after  all,  Abool-Bukr  might  not  have  a  wild-goose  chase. 

"  There  will  be  naught  but  slops  and  slaps  for  him  in 
my  information,  I'll  swear,"  said  one  with  a  laugh.  "  I'll 
back  old  Mother  Sobrai  to  beat  ofif  a.  dozen  princes." 

"  And  blows  and  bludgeons  in  mine,"  chuckled  another, 
"  I  chose  the  house  of  Bahadur,  the  single-stick  player." 

And  as,  having  no  more  time  to  lose,  he  cut  across 
gateward,  he  saw-  down  an  alley  a  mob  surging  round 
Ahsan-Oolah,  the  physician's,  house,  and  heard  a  passer- 
by  say,   "  They   have   the   traitor   safe."     It   made   him 


366  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

vaguely  uneasy,  since  he  knew  that  when  once  the  talk 
turns  on  hidden  things,  people,  not  to  be  behindhand  in 
gossip,  rake  up  every  trivial  doubt  and  wonder. 

Still  there  was  a  file  of  bullocks  waiting  by  the  cloth 
merchant's  as  arranged.  And  as  he  passed  into  the  lane 
a  dim  figure,  scarce  seen  in  the  dark,  slipped  out  of  the 
further  end.  And  there  was  the  bundle.  He  caught  it 
up  as  if  it  belonged  to  him,  and  after  knocking  gently  at 
the  third  door,  pushed  it  open,  knowing  that  he  must 
show  no  hesitation.  He  found  himself  in  a  sort  of  out- 
house or  covered  entrance,  pitch  dark  save  for  a  faintly 
lighter  square  showing  an  outlet,  doubtless  into  the  yard 
beyond.  He  moved  toward  it,  and  stumbled  over  some- 
thing unmistakably  upon  the  floor.  A  man!  He 
dropped  the  bundle  promptly  to  be  ready  in  case  the 
sleeper  should  be  a  stranger.  But  there  w-as  no  move- 
ment, and  he  kneeled  down  to  feel  if  it  was  Tiddu.  A 
Bunjarah! — that  was  unmistakable  at  the  first  touch — ■ 
but  the  limpness  was  unmistakable  too.  The  man  was 
dead — still  warm,  but  dead!  By  all  that  was  unlucky! — • 
not  Tiddu  surely!  With  the  flint  and  steel  in  his  waist- 
cloth,  he  lit  a  tuft  of  cotton  from  the  bundle  as  a  torch. 

It  was  Jhungi! — Jhungi,  with  a  knife  in  his  heart! 

"  Huzoor! "  came  the  familiar  creak,  as  Tiddu, 
attracted  by  the  sudden  light,  stole  in  from  the  yard  be- 
yond. "  Quick!  there  is  no  time  to  lose.  Give  me  the 
bundle  and  go  back." 

"  Go  back!  "  echoed  Jim  Douglas  amazed. 

"  Huzoor!  take  off  the  Bunjarah's  dress.  I  have  a 
green  turban  and  shawl  here.  The  Huzoor  must  go 
back  to  the  mem  at  once.     There  is  treachery." 

Jim  Douglas  swore  under  his  breath  as  he  obeyed. 

"  I  know  not  what,  but  the  mem  must  not  stay  there. 
I  heard  him  boasting  before,  and  just  now  I  caught  him 
prying." 

"  Who,  Jhungi?  " 

Even  at  such  a  moment  Tiddu  demurred. 

"  The  Huzoor  mistakes.  It  is  the  miscreant  Bhungi — 
Jhungi  is  virtuous " 

"  You  killed  him  then?  "  interrupted  the  hearer,  putting 
the  last  touch  to  his  disguise. 


FOX  HUMANA,  367 

"  What  else  could  I  do,  Huzoor?  I  had  only  my 
knife.     And  it  is  not  as  if  it  were — ^Jhungi " 

But  Jim  Douglas  was  already  out  of  the  door,  run- 
ning through  the  dark,  deserted  lanes  while  he  dared, 
since  he  must  walk  through  the  bazaar.  And  as  he  ran 
he  told  himself  that  he  was  a  fool  to  be  so  anxious. 
What  could  go  wrong  in  half  an  hour? 

What  indeed! 

As  he  stood  five  minutes  after,  starmg  into  the  dark 
emptiness  of  the  roof,  he  asked  himself  again  and  again 
what  could  have  happened?  There  had  been  no  answer 
to  his  knock;  the  door  had  been  hasped  on  the  outside, 
yet  the  first  glance  as  he  entered  made  him  realize  that 
the  place  was  empty  of  life.  And  though  he  had  lit  the 
cresset,  with  a  fierce  fear  at  what  it  might  reveal,  he  could 
find  no  trace,  even  of  a  struggle.  Kate  had  disappeared! 
Had  she  gone  out?  Impossible.  Had  Tara  heard  of  the 
danger,  returned,  and  taken  her  elsewhere?  Possible, 
but  improbable.  He  passed  rapidly  down  the  stairs 
again.  The  story  below  the  roof,  being  reserved  for  the 
owner's  use  on  his  occasional  visits  to  Delhi,  was  empty; 
the  occupants  of  the  second  floor,  pious  folk,  had  fled 
from  the  city  a  day  or  two  before ;  and  when  he  paused  to 
inquire  on  the  ground  floor  to  know  if  there  had  been 
any  disturbance  he  fovmd  the  door  padlocked  outside — 
sure  sign  that  everyone  was  out.  Oh!  why,  he  thought, 
had  he  not  padlocked  that  other  door  upstairs?  He 
passed  out  into  the  street,  beginning  to  realize  that  his 
task  was  over  just  as  he  had  ceased  to  gird  at  it.  There 
was  nothing  unusual  to  be  seen.  The  godly  folk  about 
were  beginning  to  close  their  gates  for  the  night,  and 
some  paused  to  listen  with  an  outraged  air  to  the  thrum- 
mings  and  drummings  from  the  Princess  Farkhoonda's 
roof.     And  that  was  Abool  Bukr's  voice  singing: 

"  Oh,  mistress  rare,  divine  !  " 

Then  it  could  scarcely  be  he,  and  Kate  might  have 
found  friends  in  that  quarter,  where  so  many  learned 
folk  deemed  the  slaughter  of  women  unlawful.  But 
there  was  no  use  in  specvflating.  He  must  find  Tara  first. 
He  paused,  however,  to  inquire  from  the  cobbler  at  the 


3^8  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

corner.  "  Disturbance?  "  echoed  the  man.  Not  much 
more  than  usual;  the  Prince,  who  had  passed  in  hah  an 
hour  agone,  being  perhaps  a  bit  wilder  after  his  wild- 
goose-chase.  Had  not  the  Agha-sahib  heard?  The 
wags  of  the  bazaar  had  taken  up  the  offer  made  by  the 
Prince,  and  his  servants  had  sworn  they  were  glad  to  get 
him  to  the  Princess',  since  they  had  been  whacked  out  of 
half  a  dozen  houses.  He  was  safe  now,  however,  since 
when  he  was  of  that  humor  Newasi  Begum  never  let  him 
go  till  he  was  too  drunk  for  mischief. 

Then,  thought  Jim  Douglas,  it  was  possible  that 
Jhungi  might  have  given  real  information;  still  but  one 
thing  was  certain — the  roof  was  empty;  the  dream  had 
vanished  into  thin  air. 

He  did  not  know  as  he  passed  through  the  dim  streets 
that  their  dream  was  over  also,  and  that  John  Nicholson 
stood  looking  down  from  the  Ridge  on  the  shadowy  mass 
of  the  town.  He  had  posted  in  a  hundred  and  twenty 
miles  that  day,  arriving  in  time  to  hear  the  explosion  of 
the  magazine.  The  city's  salute  of  w^elcome,  as  it  were, 
to  the  man  who  was  to  take  it. 

He  had  been  dining  at  the  Headquarters  mess,  taciturn 
and  grave,  a  wet  blanket  on  the  jollity,  and  the  Moselle 
cup,  and  the  fresh  cut  of  cheese  from  the  new  Europe 
shop;  and  now,  when  others  were  calling  cheery  good- 
nights  as  they  passed  to  their  tents,  he  was  off  to  wander 
alone  round  the  walls,  measuring  them  with  his  keen, 
kindly  eyes.  A  giant  of  a  man,  biting  his  lips  beneath 
his  heavy  brown  beard,  making  his  way  over  the  rocks, 
sheltering  in  the  shadow,  doggedly,  moodily,  lost  in 
thought.  He  was  parceling  out  his  world  for  conquest, 
settling  already  where  to  prick  the  bubble. 

But,  in  a  way,  it  was  pricked  already.  For,  as  he 
prowled  about  the  Palace  walls,  a  miserable  old  man, 
minus  even  the  solace  of  pulse-feeling  and  cooling 
draughts,  was  dictating  a  letter  to  Hafzan,  the  woman 
scribe.  A  miserable  letter,  to  be  sent  duly  the  next  day 
to  the  Commanders-in-Chief,  and  forwarded  by  them  to 
the  volunteers  of  Delhi.  A  disjointed  rambling  effusion 
worthy  of  the  shrunken  mind  and  body  which  held  but 
a  rambling  disjointed  memory  even  of  the  advice  given  it. 


yOX  HUMANA.  369 

"  Have  I  not  done  all  in  my  power  to  please  the 
soldiery?  "  it  ran.  "  But  it  is  to  be  deplored  that  you 
have,  notwithstanding',  shown  no  concern  for  my  life,  no 
consideration  for  my  old  age.  The  care  of  my  health  was 
in  the  hands  of  Ahsan-Oolah,  who  kept  himself  con- 
stantly informed  of  the  changes  it  underwent.  Now 
there  is  none  to  care  for  me  but  God,  while  the  changes 
in  my  health  are  such  as  may  not  be  imagined;  there- 
fore the  soldiers  and  officers  ought  to  gratify  me  and 
release  the  physician,  so  that  he  may  come  whenever  he 
thinks  it  necessary  to  examine  my  pulse.  Furthermore, 
the  property  plundered  from  his  house  belonged  to  the 
King,  therefore  it  should  be  traced  and  collected  and  con- 
veyed to  our  presence.  If  you  are  not  disposed  to  com- 
ply, let  me  be  conveyed  to  the  Kutb  shrine  and  employ 
myself  as  a  sweeper  of  the  Mosque.  And  if  even  this 
be  not  acceded  I  will  still  relinquish  every  concern  and 
jump  up  from  my  seat.  Not  having  been  killed  by  the 
English  I  will  be  killed  by  you;  for  I  shall  swallow  a  dia- 
mond and  go  to  sleep.  Aloreover,  in  the  plunder  of  the 
physician's  house,  a  small  box  containing  our  seal  was 
carried  away.  No  paper,  therefore,  of  a  date  subsequent 
to  the  /th  of  August,  1857,  bearing  our  seal,  will  be 
valid." 

A  miserable  letter  indeed.  The  dream  of  sovereignty 
had  come  to  an  end  with  that  salute  of  welcome  to  John 
Nicholson. 


BOOK  V. 

THERE  AROSE  A  MAN: 


CHAPTER  I. 

FORWARD. 

"  Are  you  here  on  duty,  sir?  "  asked  a  brief,  imperious 
voice.  Major  Erlton,  startled  from  a  half  dream  as  he 
sat  listlessly  watching  the  target  practice  from  the  Crow's 
Nest,  rose  and  saluted.  His  height  almost  matched  the 
speaker's,  but  he  looked  small  in  comparison  with  the 
indescribable  air  of  dominant  power  and  almost  arrogant 
strength  in  the  other  figure.  It  seemed  to  impress  him, 
for  he  pulled  himself  together  smartly  with  a  certain 
confidence,  and  looked,  in  truth,  every  inch  a  soldier. 

"  No,  sir,"  he  replied  as  briefly,  "  on  pleasure." 

A  distinct  twinkle  showed  for  a  second  in  General 
Nicholson's  deep-set  hazel  eyes.  "  Then  go  to  your  bed, 
sir,  and  sleep.  You  look  as  if  you  wanted  some."  He 
spoke  almost  rudely;  but  as  he  turned  on  his  heel  he 
added  in  a  louder  voice  than  was  necessary  had  he  meant 
the  remark  for  his  companion's  ear  only,  "  I  shall  want 
good  fighting  men  before  long,  I  expect." 

If  he  did,  he  might  reckon  on  one.  Herbert  Erlton 
was  not  good  at  formulating  his  feelings  into  definite 
thoughts,  but  as  he  went  back  to  the  peaceful  side  of  the 
Ridge  he  told  himself  vaguely  that  he  was  glad  Nicholson 
had  come.  He  was  the  sort  of  a  man  a  fellow  would  be 
glad  to  follow,  especially  when  he  was  dead-sick  and 
weary  of  waiting  and  doing  nothing  save  get  killed! 
Yes!  he  was  a  real  good  sort,  and  as  even  the  Chaplain 
had  said  at  mess,  the)'  hadn't  felt  quite  so  besieged  on  the 


porward.  371 

Ridge  these  last  two  days  since  he  came.  And,  by 
George!  he  had  hit  the  right  nail  on  the  head.  A  man 
wasn't  much  good  without  sleep. 

So,  with  a  certain  pride  in  following  the  advice.  Major 
Erlton  flung  himself  on  his  cot  and  promptly  dozed  off. 
In  truth  he  needed  rest.  Sonny  Seymour's  safe  arrival 
in  camp  two  nights  before,  in  charge  of  a  Bunjarah, 
from  whom  even  Hodson  had  been  unable  to  extract  any- 
thing— save  that  the  Agha-sahib  had  forgotten  a  letter 
in  his  hurry,  and  that  the  mem  was  safe,  or  had  been 
safe — had  sent  Major  Erlton  to  watch  those  devilish 
walls  more  feverishly  than  ever.  Not  that  it  really  mat- 
tered whether  Kate  was  alive  or  dead,  he  told  himself. 
No!  he  did  not  mean  that,  quite.  He  would  be  awfully 
glad — God!  how  glad!  to  know  her  safe.  But  it 
wouldn't  alter  other  things,  would  not  even  alter  them 
in  regard  to  her.  So,  once  more  he  waited  for  the  fur- 
ther news  promised  him,  w'ith  a  strange  indifference, 
save  to  the  thought  that,  alive  or  dead,  Kate  was  within 
the  walls — like  another  woman — like  many  women. 

And  now  he  was  dreaming  that  he  was  inside  them 
also,  sword  in  hand. 

There  seemed  some  chance  of  it  indeed,  men  were  say- 
ing to  each  other,  as  they  looked  after  John  Nicholson's 
tall  figure  as  it  wandered  into  every  post  and  picket; 
asking  brief  questions,  pleased  with  brief  replies.  Every 
now  and  again  pausing,  as  it  were,  to  come  out  of  his 
absorption  and  take  a  sudden,  keen  interest  in  something 
beyond  the  great  question.  As  when,  passing  the  tents 
of  the  only  lady  in  camp,  he  saw  Sonny,  who  had  been 
made  over  to  her  till  he  could  be  sent  back  to  his  mother, 
wdio  had  escaped  to  Meerut,  during  which  brief  time  he 
was  the  plaything  of  a  parcel  of  subalterns  who  delighted 
in  him,  tinsel  cap,  anklets,  and  all.  Major  Erlton  had 
at  first  rather  monopolized  the  child,  trying  to  find  out 
something  definite  from  him;  but  as  he  insisted  that 
"  Aliffis  Erlton  lived  up  in  the  'ky  wif  a  man  wif  a  gween 
face,  and  a  white  face,  and  a  lot  of  fwowers,  and  a  bit  of 
tring,"  and  spoke  familiarly  of  Tiddu,  and  Tara,  and 
Soma,  without  being  able  to  say  who  they  were,  the 
Major  had  given  it  up  as  a  bad  job,  and  gone  back  to  the 


372  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

walls.  So  the  subalterns  had  the  child  to  themselves, 
and  were  playing  pranks  with  him  as  the  General 
passed  by. 

"  Fine  little  fellow!  "  he  said  suddenly.  "  I  like  to  see 
children's  legs  and  arms.  Up  in  Bunnoo  the  babies  were 
just  like  that  young  monkey.  Real  corn-color.  I  got 
quite  smitten  with  them  and  sent  for  a  lot  of  toys  from 
Lahore.  Only  I  had  to  bar  Lawrence  from  peg-tops, 
for  I  knew  I  should  have  got  peg-topping  with  the  boys, 
and  that  would  have  been  fatal  to  my  dignity  as  D.  C. 
That  is  the  worst  of  high  estates.  You  daren't  make 
friends,  and  you  have  to  make  enemies." 

The  smile  which  had  made  him  look  years  younger 
faded,  and  he  was  back  in  the  great  problem  of  his  life: 
how  to  keep  pace  with  his  yoke-fellows,  how  to  scorn 
consequences  and  steer  straight  to  independent  action, 
without  spoiling  himself  by  setting  his  seniors  and 
superiors  in  arms  against  him.  He  had  never  solved  it 
yet.  His  career  had  been  one  long  race  with  the  curb 
on.  A  year  before  he  had  thrown  up  the  game  in  dis- 
gust, and  begged  to  be  transferred  from  the  Punjab 
while  he  could  go  with  honor,  and  even  his  triumphant 
march  Delhi-ward — in  which  he  found  disaffection,  dis- 
obedience, and  doubt,  and  left  fear,  trembling,  and 
peace — had  been  marred  by  much  rebuking.  So  that 
once,  nothing  but  the  inner  sense  that  pin-points  ought 
not  to  let  out  the  heart's  blood,  kept  him  at  his  post;  and 
but  two  days  before,  on  the  very  eve  of  that  hundred- 
and-twenty  mile  rush  to  Delhi,  he  had  written  claiming 
definitely  the  right  of  an  olificer  in  his  position  to  qviarrel 
with  anybody's  opinion,  and  asserting  his  duty  of  speak- 
ing out,  no  matter  at  what  risk  of  giving  offense. 

And  now,  a  man  years  younger  than  those  in  nominal 
command, — he  was  but  six-and-thirty, — and  holding 
views  diametrically  opposed  to  theirs,  he  had  been  sent 
here,  virtually,  to  take  Delhi  because  those  others  could 
not.  No  wonder,  then,  that  the  question  how  to  avoid 
collision  puzzled  him.  Not  becatise  he  knew  that  his  ap- 
pointment was  in  itself  an  offense,  that  some  people 
afifected  to  speak  of  him  still  as  Mr.  Nicholson — that 
being  his  real  rank;  but  because  he  knew  in  his  heart 


FORWARD.  373 

of  hearts  that  at  any  moment  he  might  do  something 
appalhng.  Move  troops  under  someone  else's  com- 
mand, without  a  reference,  as  he  had  done  before,  dur- 
ing his  career!  Then,  naturalh%  there  must  be  ructions. 
He  had  a  smile  for  the  thought  himself.  Still,  for  the 
present,  concord  was  assured;  since  until  his  column 
arrived,  the  repose  of  the  lion  crouching  for  a  spring  was 
manifestly  the  only  policy;  though  it  might  be  necessary 
to  wag  the  tail  a  bit — to  do  more  than  merely  forbid 
sorties  and  buglings.  The  fools,  for  instance,  who  har- 
rassed  the  Metcalfe  House  picket  might  be  shown  their 
mistake  and  made  to  understand  that,  if  the  Ridge  called 
"  time!  "  for  a  little  decent  rest  before  the  final  round,  it 
meant  to  have  it.  So  he  passed  on  his  errand  to  incul- 
cate Headquarters  with  his  decision,  leaving  Sonny  play- 
ing with  the  boys. 

Meanwhile  one  of  the  garrison,  at  least,  had  found  the 
benefit  of  his  keen  judgment.  Herbert  Erlton  had 
passed  from  dreams  of  conflict  to  the  real  rest  of  uncon- 
scious sleep,  oblivious  of  everything,  even  those  rose- 
red  walls. 

But  within  them  another  man,  haggard  and  anxious  as 
he  had  been,  w'as  still  allowing  himself  none  in  his  search 
for  Kate  Erlton.  Tara,  as  much  at  a  loss  as  he,  helping 
him;  for  though  at  first  she  had  been  relieved  at  the 
idea  of  the  mem's  disappearance,  she  had  soon  realized 
that  the  master  ran  more  risk  th^n  ever  in  his  reckless 
determination  to  find  some  trace  of  the  missing  woman. 
And  Tiddu,  who  had  returned,  helped  also.  The  mem, 
he  said,  must  have  found  friends;  must  be  alive.  Such 
a  piece  of  gossip  as  the  discover^'  and  death  of  an  Eng- 
lish woman  could  not  have  been  kept  from  the  Thunbi 
Bazaar.  Then  those  who  had  passed  from  the  roof  had 
been  calm  enough  to  hasp  the  door  behind  them;  that 
did  not  look  like  violence.  If  the  Huzoor  would  only  be 
patient  and  wait,  something  would  turn  up.  There  w^ere 
other  kindly  folk  in  the  city  besides  himself!  But,  in 
the  meantime,  he  would  do  well  to  allow  Soma  to  slip 
into  the  sulky  indifference  he  semed  to  prefer,  and  take 
no  notice  of  it.  It  only  meant  that  he,  and  half  the  good 
soldiers  in  Delhi,  were  mad  with  themselves  for  having 


374  O.V   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS, 

chosen  the  losing  side.  For  with  Xikalseyn  on  the 
Ridge,  what  chance  had  Delhi? 

This  was  rather  an  exaggerated  picture;  still  it  was 
a  fairly  faithful  presentment  of  the  inward  thoughts  of 
many,  who,  long  before  this,  had  begun  to  ask  them- 
selves what  the  devil  they  were  doing  in  that  galley? 
Yet  there  they  were,  and  there  they  must  fight.  Soma, 
however,  was  doubtful  even  of  that.  His  heart  positively 
ached  as  he  listened  to  the  tales  told  in  the  very  heart  of 
Delhi  of  the  man  whom  other  men  worshiped — the  man 
who  took  forts  single-handed,  and  said  that,  given  the 
powers  of  a  provost-marshal,  he  would  control  a  dis- 
obedient army  in  two  days !  The  man  who  yoked  bribe- 
taking tahseeldars  into  the  village  well-wheel  to  draw 
water  for  the  robbed  ryots,  and  set  women  of  loose  vir- 
tue, who  came  into  his  camp,  to  cool  in  muddy  tanks. 
The  man  who  flung  every  law-book  on  his  office  table  at 
his  clerks'  heads,  and  then — with  a  kindly  apologetic 
smile — paused  while  they  replaced  them  for  future  use. 
The  man  who  gave  toys  to  children,  and  remorselessly 
hung  two  abettors  of  a  vile  murder,  when  he  could  not 
lay  hands  on  the  principal.  The  man,  finally,  who 
flogged  those  who  worshiped  him  into  promising  adora- 
tion for  the  future  to  a  very  ordinary  mortal  of  his 
acquaintance!  Briefly  the  hero,  the  demi-god,  who 
perhaps  was  neither,  but,  as  Tiddu  declared,  had  simply 
the  greatest  gift  of  all — the  gift  of  making  men  what  he 
wished  them  to  be.  Either  way  it  was  gall  and  worm- 
wood to  Soma — hero-worshiper  by  birth — that  his  side 
should  have  no  such  colossal  figure  to  follow.  So,  sulky 
and  sore,  he  held  aloof  from  both  sides,  doing  his 
bounden  duty  to  both,  and  no  more.  Keeping  guards 
when  his  fellows  took  bribes  to  fight,  and  agreeing  with 
Tiddu,  that  since  some  other  besides  themselves  knew  of 
the  roof,  it  was  safer  for  the  master  to  lock  it  up,  and 
live  for  a  time  elsewhere. 

So,  all  unwittingly,  the  only  chance  of  finding  Kate 
was  lost.  For  what  had  happened  was  briefly  this:  Five 
minutes  after  Jim  Douglas  had  left  her.  Prince  Abool- 
Bukr.  W'ho  had  kept  this  rciiscigncmcnf — given  him  by  a 
Bunjarah,  who  had  promised  to  be  in  waiting  and  was 


FORWARD.  375 

not — to  the  last,  because  it  was  close  to  the  haven  where 
he  would  be,  had  come  roystering  up  the  stairs  followed 
by  his  unwilling  retainers,  suggesting  that  the  Most 
Illustrious  had  really  better  desist  from  violating  seclu- 
sion since  they  were  all  black  and  blue  already.  But, 
from  sheer  devilry  and  desire  to  outrage  the  quarter, 
which  by  its  complaints  had  already  brought  him  into 
trouble,  the  Prince  had  begun  battering  at  the  door. 
Kate,  running  to  bar  it  more  securely,  saw  that  the  hasp, 
carelessly  hitched  over  the  staple,  was  slipping — had 
slipped;  and  had  barely  time  to  dash  into  the  inner  roof 
ere  the  Prince,  unexpectant  of  the  sudden  giving  way, 
tumbled  headlong  into  the  outer  one.  The  fall  gave 
her  an  instant  more,  but  made  him  angry;  and  the  end 
would  have  been  certain,  if  Kate,  seeing  the  new-made 
gap  in  the  wall  before  her,  had  not  availed  herself  of  it. 
There  was  a  roof  not  far  below  she  knew;  the  debris 
would  be  on  a  slope  perhaps — the  blue-eyed  boy  had 
escaped  by  the  roofs.  All  this  flashed  through  her,  as 
by  the  aid  of  a  stool,  which  she  kicked  over  in  her 
scramble,  she  gained  the  top  of  the  gap  and  peered  over. 
The  next  instant  she  had  dropped  herself  down  some 
four  feet,  finding  a  precarious  foothold  on  a  sliding 
slope  of  rubble,  and  still  clinging  to  the  wall  with  her 
hands.  If  no  one  looked  over,  she  thought  breathlessly, 
she  was  safe!  And  no  one  did.  The  general  air  of 
decent  privacy  alarmed  the  retainers  into  remembering 
that  two  of  their  number  had  found  death  their  reward 
for  their  master's  last  escapade  in  that  quarter;  so,  after 
one  glance  round,  they  swore  the  place  was  empty,  and 
dragged  him  off,  feebly  protesting  that  it  was  his  last 
chance,  and  he  had  not  bagged  a  single  Christian. 

Kate  heard  the  door  closed,  heard  the  voices  retreat 
downstairs,  and  then  set  herself  to  get  back  over  the  gap. 
It  did  not  seem  a  difficult  task.  The  slope  on  which  she 
hung  gave  fair  foothold,  and  by  getting  a  good  grip  on 
the  brickwork,  and  perhaps  displacing  a  brick  or  two  in 
the  crack  lower  down,  as  a  step,  she  ought  to  get  up 
easily.  It  was  lucky  the  crack  was  there,  she  thought. 
In  one  way,  not  in  another,  for,  as  in  her  effort  she  neces- 
sarily threw  all  her  weight  on  the  wall,  another  bit  of  it 


376  ON    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

gave  way,  she  fell  backward,  and  so,  half  covered  with 
bricks  and  mud,  rolled  to  the  roof  below,  which  was 
luckily  not  more  than  eight  or  nine  feet  down.  It  was  far 
enough,  however,  for  the  fall  to  have  killed  her;  but, 
though  she  lay  quite  unconscious,  she  was  not  dead,  only 
stunned,  shaken,  confused,  unable  absolutely  to  think. 
It  was  almost  dawn,  indeed,  before  she  realized  that  her 
only  chance  of  getting  up  again  was  in  calling  for  help, 
and  by  that  time  the  door  of  the  roof  above  had  been 
locked,  and  there  was  no  one  to  hear  her.  The  few 
square  yards  of  roof  on  to  which  she  had  rolled  belonged 
to  one  of  those  box-like  buildings,  half-turrets,  half-sum- 
mer houses,  which  natives  build  here,  there,  and  every- 
where at  all  sorts  of  elevations,  until  the  view  of  a  town 
from  a  topmost  roof  resembles  nothing  so  much  as  the 
piles  of  luggage  awaiting  the  tidal  train  at  Victoria. 

This  particular  square  of  roof  belonged  to  a  tiny  out- 
house, which  stood  on  a  long  narrow  roof  belonging  in 
its  turn  to  an  arcaded  slip  of  summer-house  standing  on 
a  square,  set  round  by  high  parapet  walls.  Quite  a  stair- 
case of  roofs.  Her  one  had  had  a  thatch  set  against 
the  wall,  but  it  had  fallen  in  with  the  weight  of  bricks  and 
mortar.  Still  she  might  be  able  to  creep  between  it  and 
the  wall  for  shelter.  And  on  the  slip  of  roof  below, 
Indian  corn  was  drying,  during  this  break  in  the  rains. 
Rains  which  had  filled  a  row  of  water-pots  quite  full. 
Since  she  could  not  make  those  above  her  hear,  she 
thought  it  might  be  as  well  to  secure  herself  from  abso- 
lute starvation,  before  broad  daylight  brought  life  to  the 
wilderness  of  roofs  around  her.  So  she  scrambled  down 
a  rough  ladder  of  bamboo  tied  with  string,  and,  after  a 
brief  look  into  the  square  below,  came  back  with  some 
parched  grain  she  had  found  in  a  basket,  and  a  pot  of 
water.  She  would  not  starve  for  that  day.  By  this  time 
it  was  dawn,  and  she  crept  into  her  shelter,  listening 
all  the  while  for  a  sound  from  above;  every  now  and 
again  venturing  on  a  call.  But  there  was  no  answer, 
and  by  degrees  it  came  to  her  that  she  must  rely  on  her- 
self only  for  safety.  She  was  not  likely  to  be  disturbed 
that  day  where  she  was,  unless  people  came  to  repair 
the  thatch.     And  under  cover  of  night  she  might  surely 


FORWARD.  377 

creep  from  roof  to  roof  down  to  some  alley.  What  alle;,-? 
True,  her  goal  now  lay  behind  her,  but  these  roofs,  set 
at  every  angle,  might  lead  her  far  from  it.  And  how 
was  she  to  know  her  own  stair,  her  own  house,  from  the 
outside?  She  had  passed  into  it  in  darkness  and  never 
left  it  again.  Then  what  sort  of  people  lived  in  these 
houses  through  which  she  must  creep  like  a  thief?  Mur- 
derers, perhaps.  Still  it  was  her  only  chance;  and  all 
that  burning,  blistering  day,  as  she  crouched  between  the 
thatch  and  the  wall,  she  was  bolstering  up  her  courage 
for  the  efifort.  She  could  see  the  Ridge  clearly  from  her 
hiding  place.  Ah!  if  she  had  only  the  wings  of  the 
doves — those  purple  pigeons  which,  circling  from  the 
great  dome  of  the  mosque,  came  to  feast  unchecked  on 
the  Indian  corn.  The  people  below%  then,  must  be  pious 
folk. 

It  was  past  midnight  and  the  silence  of  sleep  had 
settled  over  the  city  before  she  nerved  herself  to  the 
chance  and  crept  down  among  the  corn.  No  difficulty 
in  that;  but  to  her  surprise,  a  cresset  was  still  burning  in 
the  arcaded  veranda  below,  sending  three  bars  of  light 
across  the  square  through  which  she  must  pass.  It  would 
be  better  to  wait  a  while ;  but  an  hour  slipped  by  and  still 
the  light  gleamed  into  the  silence.  Perhaps  it  had  been 
forgotten.  The  possibility  made  her  creep  down  the 
brick  ladder,  prepared  to  creep  up  again  if  the  silence 
proved  deceptive.  But  what  she  saw  made  her  pause, 
hesitating.  It  was  a  woman  reading  from  a  large  book 
held  in  a  book-rest.  The  Koran,  of  course.  Kate 
recognized  it  at  once,  for  just  such  another  had  been 
part  of  the  necessary  furniture  of  her  roof.  And  what 
a  beautiful  face!  Tender,  refined,  charming.  Not  the 
face  of  a  murderess,  surely?  Surely  it  might  be  trusted? 
Those  three  months  behind  the  veil  had  made  Kate 
realize  the  emotionality  of  the  East;  its  instinctive  sym- 
pathy with  the  dramatic  element  in  life.  She  remem- 
bered her  sudden  impulse  in  regard  to  the  knife  and  its 
efifect  on  Tiddu;  she  felt  a  similar  impulse  toward  confi- 
dence here.  And  then  she  knew  that  the  doors  might  be 
locked  below,  and  that  her  best  chance  might  be  to  throw 
herself  on  the  mercy  of  this  woman. 


378  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

The  next  moment  she  was  standing  full  in  the  light 
close  to  the  student,  who  started  to  her  feet  with  a  faint 
cry,  gazing  almost  incredulously  at  the  figure  so  like  her 
own,  save  for  the  jewels  gleaming  among  the  white 
draperies. 

"  Bibi,"  she  faltered. 

"  I  am  no  bibi,"  interrupted  Kate  hurriedly  in  Hin- 
dustani. "  I  am  a  Christian — but  a  woman  like  your- 
self— a  mother.  For  the  sake  of  yours — or  the  sake  of 
your  sons,  if  you  are  a  mother  too — for  the  sake  of  what 
you  love  best — save  me." 

"  A  Christian!  a  mem!  "  In  the  pause  of  sheer  aston- 
ishment the  two  women  stood  facing  each  other,  looking 
into  each  other's  eyes.  Prince  Abool-Bukr  had  been 
right  when  he  said  that  Kate  Erlton  reminded  him  of 
the  Princess  Farkhoonda  da  Zamani.  Standing  so, 
they  showed  strangely  alike  indeed,  not  in  feature,  but 
in  type;  in  the  soul  which  looked  out  of  the  soft  dark, 
and  the  clear  gray  eyes. 

"  Save  you!  "  The  faint  echo  was  lost  in  a  new  sound, 
close  at  hand.  A  careless  voice  humming  a  song;  a 
step  coming  up  the  dark  stair. 

"  O  mistress  rare,  divine  !  " 

God  and  His  Prophet!  Abool  himself!  Newasi 
flung  her  hands  up  in  sheer  horror.  Abool!  and  this 
Christian  here!  The  next  instant  with  a  fierce  "Keep 
still,"  she  had  thrust  Kate  into  the  deepest  shadow  and 
was  out  to  bar  the  brick  ladder  with  her  tall  white  grace. 
She  had  no  time  for  thought.  One  sentence  beat  on  her 
brain — "  for  the  sake  of  what  you  love  best,  save  me!  " 
Yea!  for  his  sake  this  strange  woman  must  not  be  seen — 
he  must  not,  should  not  guess  she  was  there! 

"  Stand  back,  kind  one,  and  let  me  pass,"  came  the 
gay  voice  carelessly.  It  made  Kate  shudder  back  into 
further  shadow,  for  she  knew  now  where  she  was;  and 
but  that  she  would  have  to  pass  those  bars  of  light  would 
have  essayed  escape  to  the  roofs  again. 

But  Newasi  stood  still  as  stone  on  the  first  step  of  the 
stairs. 

"Pass!"    she    repeated    clearly,    coldly.     "Art    mad, 


FORWARD.  379 

Abool?  that  thou  comest  hither  with  no  excuse  of 
drunkenness  and  alone,  at  this  hour  of  the  night.  For 
shame!  " 

Why,  indeed,  she  asked  herself  wildly,  had  he  come? 
He  was  not  used  to  do  so.  Could  he  have  heard?  Had 
he  come  on  purpose?  There  was  a  sound  as  if  he  re- 
treated a  step,  and  from  the  dark  his  voice  came  with  a 
wonder  in  it. 

"  What  ails  thee,  Newasi?" 

"  What  ails  me!  "  she  echoed,  "  what  I  have  lacked  too 
long.     Just  anger  at  thy  thoughtless  ways.     Go " 

"  But  I  have  that  to  tell  thee  of  serious  import  that 
none  but  thou  must  hear.  That  which  will  please  thee. 
That  which  needs  thy  kind  wise  eyes  upon  it." 

"  Then  let  them  see  it  by  daylight,  not  now.  I  will 
not,  Abool.     Stand  back,  or  I  will  call  for  help." 

The  sound  of  retreat  was  louder  this  time,  and  a  mut- 
tered curse  came  with  it;  but  the  voice  had  a  trace  of 
anxiety  in  it  now — anxiety  and  anger. 

"Thou  dost  not  mean  it,  kind  one;  thou  canst  not! 
When  have  I  done  that  which  would  make  thee  need 
help?  Newasi!  be  not  a  fool.  Remember  it  is  I,  Abool; 
Abool-Bukr,  who  has  a  devil  in  him  at  times!  " 

Did  she  not  know  it  by  this  time?  Was  not  that  the 
reason  w^hy  he  must  not  find  this  Christian?  Why  she 
must  refuse  him  hearing?  Though  it  was  true  that  he 
had  a  right  to  be  trusted;  in  all  those  long  years,  when 
had  he  failed  to  treat  her  tenderly,  respectfully?  As 
she  stood  barring  his  way,  where  he  had  never  before 
l)een  denied  entrance,  she  felt  as  if  she  herself  could  have 
killed  that  strange  woman  for  being  there,  for  coming 
between  them. 

"Listen,  Abool!"  she  said,  stretching  out  her  hands 
to  find  his  in  the  dark.  "  I  mean  naught,  dear,  that  is 
unkind.  How  could  it  be  so  between  me  and  thee? 
But  'tis  not  wise."  She  paused,  catching  her  breath  in 
a  faint  sob.  He  could  not  see  her  face,  perhaps  if  he 
had,  he  would  have  been  less  relentless. 

"  Wherefore?    Canst  not  trust  thy  nephew,  fair  aunt?  " 

The  sarcasm  bit  deep. 


380  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

"  Nephew!  A  truce,  Abool,  to  this  fooHsh  tale,"  she 
began  hotly,  when  he  interrupted  her. 

"  Of  a  surety,  if  the  Princess  Farkhoonda  desires  it ! 
Yet  would  Mirza  Abool-Bukr  still  like  to  know  where- 
fore he  is  not  received?" 

His  tone  sent  a  thrill  of  terror  through  her,  his  use  of 
the  name  he  hated  warned  her  that  his  temper  was  ris- 
ing— the  devil  awakening. 

"  Canst  not  see,  dear,"  she  pleaded,  trying  to  keep 
the  hands  he  would  have  drawn  from  hers — "  folk  have 
evil  minds." 

He  gave  an  ugly  laugh.  "  Since  when  hast  thou  be- 
gun to  think  of  thy  good  name,  like  other  women,  Ne- 
wasi?  But  if  it  be  so,  if  all  my  virtue — and  God  knows 
'tis  ill-got — is  to  go  for  naught,  let  it  end." 

She  heard  him,  felt  him  turn,  and  a  wild  despair  surged 
up  in  her.  Which  was  worst?  To  let  him  go  in  anger 
beyond  the  reach  of  her  controlling  hand  mayhap — go 
to  unknown  evils — or  chance  this  one?  Since — since  at 
the  worst  death  might  be  concealed.  God  and  His 
Prophet!  What  a  thought!  No!  she  would  plead 
again — she  would  stoop — she  would  keep  him  at  any 
price. 

"  Listen!  "  she  whispered  passionately,  leaning  toward 
him  in  the  dark,  "  dost  ask  since  when  I  have  feared  for 
my  good  name?  Canst  not  guess? — Abool!  what — what 
does  a  woman,  as  I  am,  fear — save  herself — save  her  own 
love " 

There  was  an  instant's  silence,  and  then  his  reckless 
jeering  laugh  jarred  loud. 

"  So  it  has  come  at  last!  and  there  is  another  woman 
for  kisses.  That  is  an  end  indeed!  Did  I  not  tell  thee 
we  should  quarrel  over  it  some  day?  Well,  be  it  so. 
Princess!     I  will  take  my  virtue  elsewhere." 

She  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone,  listening  to  his  retreat- 
ing steps,  listening  to  his  nonchalant  humming  of  the 
old  refrain  as  he  passed  through  the  courtyard  into  the 
alley.  Then,  without  a  word,  but  quivering  with  pas- 
sion, she  turned  to  where  Kate  cowered,  and  dragged 
her  by  main  force  to. the  stairs  where,  a  minute  before; 
she  had  sacrificed  everything  for  her.  No!  not  for  her, 
for  him! 


FORWARD.  3^1 

"  Go,"  she  said  bitterly.  "  Go!  and  my  curse  go  with 
you." 

Kate  fled  before  the  anger  she  saw  but  did  not  under- 
stand. Yet  as  she  flew  down  the  steep  stairs  she  paused 
invoUintarily  to  Hsten  to  the  sound — a  sound  which 
needed  no  interpreter  as  the  hquid  Persian  had  done — 
of  a  woman  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

She  had  no  time,  however,  even  for  wonder,  and  the 
next  instant  she  was  out  in  the  alley,  turning  to  the  right. 
For  the  knowledge  that  it  was  the  Princess  Farkhoonda 
who  had  helped  her,  gave  the  clew  to  her  position.  But 
the  house,  the  stair?  How  could  she  know  it?  She 
must  try  them  one  after  another;  since  she  w^ould  know 
the  landing,  the  door  she  had  so  often  opened  and  shut. 
Still  it  was  perilously  near  dawn  ere  she  found  what  she 
was  sure  was  the  right  one;  but  it  was  padlocked. 

They  must  have  gone;  gone  and  left  her  alone! 

For  the  first  time,  ghastly,  unreasoning  fear  seized  on 
her;  she  could  have  beaten  at  the  door  and  screamed 
her  claim  to  be  let  in.  And  even  when,  the  rush  of  ter- 
ror passed,  she  sat  stupidly  on  the  step,  not  even  wonder- 
ing what  to  do  next,  till  suddenly  she  remembered  that 
she  had  keys  in  her  pocket.  That  of  the  inner  padlock, 
certainly ;  perhaps  of  the  outer  one.  also,  since  Tara  had 
given  up  using  her  duplicate  altogether. 

She  had;  and  five  minutes  after,  having  satisfied  her- 
self that  the  roof  remained  as  it 'was — that  it  was  merely 
empty  for  a  time — she  tried  to  feel  grateful.  But  the 
loneliness,  the  dimness,  were  too  much  for  her  fatigue, 
her  excitement.  So  once  more  the  sound  which  needs 
no  interpreter  rose  on  the  warm  soft  night. 

It  was  two  days  after  this  that  Tiddu  held  a  secret 
consultation  with  Soma  and  Tara.  The  Agha-sahib.  he 
said,  was  getting  desperate.  He  was  losing  his  head, 
as  the  Huzoors  did  over  women-folk,  and  he  must  be 
got  out  of  the  city.  It  was  not  as  if  he  did  any  good  by 
staying  in  it.  The  mem  was  either  dead,  or  safely  con- 
cealed. There  was  no  alternative,  unless,  indeed,  she 
had  already  been  passed  out  to  the  Ridge.  There  was 
talk  of  that  sort  among  Hodson's  spies,  and  he  was  going 
to  utilize  the  fact  and  persuade  the  Huzoor  to  creep  out 


382  O.V    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

to  the  camp  and  see.  Soma  could  pass  him  out,  and 
would  not  pass  him  in  again;  which  was  fortunate. 
Since  folk  in  addition  to  protecting  masters  had  to  make 
money,  when  every  other  corn-carrier  in  the  place  was 
coining  it  by  smuggling  gold  and  silver  out  of  the  city 
for  the  rich  merchants.  Tara,  with  a  sudden  fierce  exul- 
tation in  her  somber  eyes,  agreed.  Let  the  Huzoor  go 
back  to  his  own  life,  she  said;  let  him  go  to  safety,  and 
leave  her  free.  As  for  the  mem,  the  master  had  done 
enough  for  her.  And  Soma,  sulky  and  lowering  with 
the  dull  glow  of  opium  in  his  brain — for  the  drug  was 
his  only  solace  now — swore  that  Tiddu  was  right.  Delhi 
was  no  place  for  the  master.  And  once  out  of  it,  the 
fighting  would  keep  him:  he  knew  him  of  old.  As  for 
the  mem,  he  would  not  harm  her,  as  Tara  had  once  sug- 
gested he  should.  That  dream  was  over.  The  Huzoors 
were  the  true  masters;  they  had  men  who  could  lead 
men.  Not  Princes  in  Cashmere  shawls  who  couldn't 
understand  a  word  of  what  you  said,  and  mere  soubadars 
cocked  up,  but  real  Colonels  and  Generals. 

The  result  of  this  being  that  on  the  night  of  the  nth, 
betvv'een  midnight  and  dawn,  Jim  Douglas,  with  that  ela- 
tion which  came  to  him  always  at  the  prospect  of  action, 
prepared  to  slip  out  of  the  sally-port  by  the  Magazine, 
disguised  as  a  sepoy.  This  was  to  please  Soma.  To 
please  Tiddu,  however,  he  wore  underneath  this  disguise 
the  old  stafif  uniform  from  the  theatrical  properties.  It 
reminded  him  of  Alice  Gissing,  making  him  whisper 
another  "  bravo  "  to  the  memory  of  the  woman  whom 
he  had  buried  under  the  orange-trees  in  the  crimson- 
netted  shroud  made  of  an  officer's  scarf. 

But  Tiddu's  remark,  that  an  English  uniform  would  be 
the  safest,  once  he  was  beyond  the  city,  sent  sadness  fly- 
ing, in  its  frank  admission  that  the  tide  had  turned. 

Turned,  indeed!  The  certainty  came  with  a  great 
throb  of  fierce  joy  as,  half  an  hour  afterward,  slipping 
past  the  gardens  of  Ludlow  Castle,  he  found  himself  in 
the  thick  of  English  bayonets,  and  felt  grateful  for  the 
foresight  of  the  old  stafif  uniform.  They  were  on  their 
way  to  surprise  and  take  the  picket;  not  to  defend  but 
to  attack. 


FORWARD.  383 

The  opportunity  was  too  good  to  be  lost.  There  was 
no  hurry.  He  had  arranged  to  remain  three  days  on  the 
Ridge — he  might  not  have  another  opportunity  of  a  free 
fair  fight. 

He  had  forgotten  every  woman  in  the  world,  every- 
thing save  the  welcome  silence  before  him  as  he  turned 
and  stole  through  the  trees  also,  sword  in  hand. 

By  all  that  was  lucky  and  well-planned!  the  picket 
must  be  asleep!  Not  a  sound  save  the  faint  crackle  of 
stealthy  feet  almost  lost  in  the  insistent  cjuiver  of  the 
cicalas.  No!  there  was  a  challenge  at  last  within  a  foot 
or  two. 

"Who— kum— dar?" 

And  swift  as  an  echo  a  young  voice  beside  him  came 
jibingly: 

"  It's  me,  Pandy!     Take  that." 

It's  me!  Just  so;  me  with  a  vengeance.  For  the 
right  attack  and  the  left  were  botli  well  up.  There  was 
a  short,  sharp  volley;  then  the  welcome  familiar  order. 
A  cheer,  a  clatter,  a  rush  and  clashing  with  the  bayonets. 
It  seemed  but  half  a  minute  before  Jim  Douglas  found 
himself  among  the  guns  slashing  at  a  dazed  artilleryman 
who  had  a  port-fire  in  his  hand.  So  the  artillery  on 
either  side  never  had  a  chance,  and  Major  Erlton,  riding 
up  with  the  9th  Lancers  as  the  central  attack,  found 
that  bit  of  the  fighting  over.  The  picket  was  taken; 
the  mutineers  had  fled  cityward  leaving  four  guns  be- 
hind them.  And  against  one  of  these,  as  the  Major  rode 
close  to  gloat  over  it,  leaned  a  man  whom  he  recognized 
at  once. 

"My  God!  Douglas,"  he  said,  "where — where's 
Kate? — Where's  my  wnfe?" 

It  was  rather  an  abrupt  transition  of  thought,  and  Jim 
Douglas,  who  was  feeling  rather  queer  from  something, 
he  scarcely  knew  what,  looked  up  at  the  speaker  doubt- 
fully. 

"  Oh,  it  is  you.  Major  Erlton,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I 
thought — I  mean  I  hoped  she  was  here — if  she  isn't — 
why,  I  suppose  I'd  better  go  back." 

He  took  his  arm  ofif  the  gun  and  half-stumbled  for- 
ward, when  Major  Erlton  flung  himself  from  his  horse 
and  laid  hold  of  him. 


384  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

"  You're  hit,  man — the  blood's  pouring  from  your 
sleeve.     Here,  off  with  your  coat,  sharp!  " 

"  I  can't  think  why  it  bleeds  so?  "  said  Jim  Douglas 
feebly,  looking  down  at  a  clean  cut  at  the  inside  of  the 
elbow  from  which  the  blood  was  literally  spouting.  "  It 
is  nothing — nothing  at  all." 

The  Major  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  Take  the  go  out  of 
you  a  bit,  though.  I'll  get  a  tourniquet  on  sharp,  and 
send  you  up  in  a  dhooli." 

"  What  an  unlucky  devil  I  am!  "  muttered  Jim  Doug- 
las to  himself,  and  the  Major  did  not  deny  it:  he  was  in 
a  hurry  to  be  off  again  with  the  party  told  to  clear  the 
Koodsia  Gardens.  Which  they  did  successfully .  before 
sunrise,  when  the  expedition  returned  to  camp  cheering 
like  demons  and  dragging  in  the  captured  guns,  on  which 
some  of  the  wounded  men  sat  triumphantly.  It  was 
their  first  real  success  since  Budli-ke-serai,  two  months 
before;  and  they  were  in  wild  spirits. 

Even  the  Doctor,  fresh  from  shaking  his  head  over 
many  a  form  lifted  helplessly  from  the  dhoolis,  was  jubi- 
lant as  he  sorted  Jim  Douglas'  arm. 

"  Keep  you  here  ten  days  or  so  I  should  say.  There's 
always  a  chance  of  its  breaking  out  again  till  the  wound 
is  quite  healed.  Never  mind!  You  can  go  into  Delhi 
with  the  rest  of  us,  before  then." 

»    "  Yoicks  forward!"  cried  a  wounded  lad  in  the  cot 
close  by.     The  Doctor  turned  sharply. 

"  If  you  don't  keep  quiet,  Jones,  I'll  send  you  back 
to  Meerut.  And  you  too,  Maloney.  I've  told  you  to 
lie  still  a  dozen  times." 

"  Sure,  Docther  dear,  ye  couldn't  be  so  cruel,"  said  a 
big  Irishman  sitting  at  the  foot  of  his  bed  so  as  to  get 
nearer  to  a  new  arrival  who  was  telling  the  tale  of  the 
fight.  "  And  me  able-bodied  and  spoiling  to  be  at  me 
wurrk  this  three  days." 

"  It's  a  curious  fact,"  remarked  the  Doctor  to  Jim 
Douglas  as  he  finished  bandaging  him,  "  the  hospital  has 
been  twice  as  insubordinate  since  Nicholson  came  in. 
The  men  seem  to  think  we  are  to  assault  Delhi  to- 
morrow. But  we  can't  till  the  siege  train  comes,  of 
course.     So  you  may  be  in  at  the  death!  " 


BITS,  BRIDLES,  SPURS.  3^5 

Jim  Douglas  felt  glad  and  sorry  in  a  breath. 

Finally  he  told  himself  he  could  let  decision  stand  over 
for  a  day  or  two.  He  must  see  Hodson  first,  and  find 
out  if  the  letter  he  had  had  from  his  spies  about  an  Eng- 
lishwoman, concealed  in  Delhi,  referred  to  Kate  Erlton. 


CHAPTER  II. 

BITS,    BRIDLES,    SPURS. 

The  letter,  however,  did  not  refer  to  Kate;  thougn, 
curiously  enough,  the  Englishwoman  it  concerned  had 
been,  and  still  was  concealed  in  an  Afghan's  house. 
Kate,  then,  had  not  been  the  only  Englishwoman  in 
Delhi.  There  was  a  certain  consolation  in  the  thought, 
since  what  was  being  done  for  one  person  by  kindly 
natives  might  ver}^  well  be  done  for  another.  Besides, 
removed  as  he  was  now  from  the  fret  and  strain  of  actual 
search.  Jim  Douglas  admitted  frankly  to  Alajor  Hodson 
that  he  was  right  in  saying  that  Mrs.  Erlton  must  either 
have  come  to  an  end  of  her  troubles  altogether,  or  have 
found  friends  better  able,  perhaps,  than  he  to  protect  her. 

Regarding  the  first  possibility  also  Alajor  Hodson  was 
skeptical.  He  had  hundreds  of  spies  in  the  city.  Such 
a  piece  of  good  luck  as  the  discovery  of  a  Christian  must 
have  been  noised  abroad.  They  had  not  mentioned  it; 
he  did  not,  therefore,  believe  it  had  occurred.  He 
would,  however,  inquire,  and  till  the  answer  came  ir 
would  be  foolish  to  go  back  to  the  city.  Jim  Douglas 
admitted  this  also;  but  as  the  days  passed,  the  desire  to 
return  increased;  especially  when  JMajor  Erlton  came 
to  see  him,  which  he  did  with  dutiful  regularity.  Jim 
Douglas  could  not  help  admiring  him  when  he  stood, 
stifif  and  square,  thanking  him  as  Englishmen  thank 
their  fellows  for  what  they  know  to  be  beyond  thanks. 

"  I  am  sure  no  one  could  have  done  more,  and  I  know 
I  couldn't  have  done  a  quarter  so  much;  and  I'm  grate- 
ful," he  said  awkwardly.  Then  with  the  best  intentions, 
born  from  a  real  pity  for  the  haggard  man  who  sat  on 


386  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

the  edge  of  his  cot  looking  as  men  do  after  a  struggle  of 
weeks  with  malarial  fever,  he  added,  "  And  the  luck  has 
been  a  bit  against  you  all  the  time,  hasn't  it?  " 

"  As  yet,  perhaps,"  replied  Jim  Douglas,  feeling  in- 
clined then  and  there  to  start  cityward,  "  but  the  game 
isn't  over.     When  I  go  back " 

"  Hodson  says  you  could  do  no  good,"  continued  the 
big  man,  still  with  the  best  intentions. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  him,"  retorted  the  other  sharply. 

"  Perhaps  not — but — but  I  wouldn't,  if  I  were  you. 
Or — rather — /  should  of  course — only — you  see  it  is 
different  for  me.  She "  Major  Erlton  paused,  find- 
ing it  difficult  to  explain  himself.  The  memory  of  that 
last  letter  he  had  written  to  Kate  was  always  with  him, 
making  him  feel  she  was  not,  in  a  way,  his  wife.  He  had 
never  regretted  it.  He  had  scarcely  thought  what  would 
happen  if  she  came  back  from  the  dead,  as  it  were,  to 
answer  it;  for  he  hated  thought.  Even  now  the  com- 
plexity of  his  emotions  irritated  him,  and  he  broke 
through  them  almost  brutally.  "  She  was  my  wife,  you 
see.  Bvit  you  had  nothing  to  do  with  it;  so  you  had 
better  leave  it  alone.  You've  done  enough  already. 
And  as  I  said  before,  I'm  grateful." 

So  he  had  stalked  away,  leaving  his  hearer  frowning. 
It  was  true.  The  luck  had  been  against  him.  But  what 
right  had  it  to  be  so?  Above  all,  what  right  had  that  big 
brutal  fellow  to  say  so?  There  he  was  going  ofif  to  win 
more  distinction,  no  doubt.  He  would  end  by  getting 
the  Victoria  Cross,  and  confound  him!  from  what  people 
said  of  him,  he  would  well  deserve  it. 

While  he?  Even  these  two  days  had  brought  his 
failure  home  to  him.  And  yet  he  told  himself,  that  if  he 
had  failed  to  save  one  Englishwoman,  others  had  failed 
to  save  hundreds.  Fresh  as  he  was  to  the  facts,  they 
seemed  toihim  almost  incredible.  As  he  wandered  round 
the  Ridge  inspecting  that  rear-guard  of  graves,  or  sat 
talking  to  some  of  the  thousand-and-odd  sick  and 
wounded  in  hospital,  listening  to  endless  tales  of  courage, 
pluck,  sheer  dogged  resistance,  he  realized  at  what  a  ter- 
rible cost  that  armed  force,  varying  from  three  to  six 
thousand  men,  had  simply  clung  to  the  rocks  and  looked 


BITS,  BRIDLES,  SPURS.  3^7 

at  the  city.  There  seemed  enough  heroism  in  it  to  have 
removed  mountains;  and  coming  upon  him,  not  in  the 
monotonous  sequence  of  day-to-day  experience,  but  in 
a  single  impression,  the  futihty  of  it  left  him  appalled. 
So  did  the  news  of  the  world  beyond  Delhi,  heard, 
reliably,  for  the  first  time.  Briefly,  England  was  every- 
where on  her  defense.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  from  that 
mad  dream  of  conquest  within  the  city  he  had  passed  to 
as  strange  a  dream  of  defeat.  And  why?  The  fire,  un- 
checked at  first,  had  blazed  up  with  fresh  fuel  in  place 
after  place  and  left? — Nothing.  Not  a  single  attempt  to 
wrest  the  government  of  the  country  from  us:  not  even 
an  organized  resistance,  when  once  the  order  to  advance 
had  been  given.  Had  there  been  some  mysterious  influ- 
ence abroad  making  men  blind  to  the  truth? 

It  was  about  to  pass  away  if  there  had  been,  he  felt, 
when  on  the  14th,  he  watched  John  Nicholson  re-enter 
the  Ridge  at  the  head  of  his  column.  And  many  others 
felt  the  same,  without  in  any  way  disparaging  those  who 
for  long  months  of  defense  had  borne  the  burden  and 
heat  of  the  day.  They  simply  saw  that  Fate  had  sent  a 
new  factor  into  the  problem,  that  the  old  order  was 
changing.     The  defense  was  to  be  attack. 

And  why  not,  with  that  reinforcement  of  fine  fighting 
men?  Played  in  by  the  band  of  the  8th,  amid  cheering 
and  counter-cheering,  which  almost  drowned  the  music, 
it  seemed  fit — as  the  joke  ran — if  not  to  face  hell  itself,  at 
any  rate  to  take  Pandymonium.  The  52d  Regiment 
looked  like  the  mastiff  to  which  its  leader  had  likened  it. 
The  2d  Sikhs  were  admittedly  the  biggest  fellows  ever 
seen.  The  wild  Alooltanee  Horse  sat  their  lean  Be- 
loochees  with  the  loose  security  of  seat  which  tells  of  men 
born  to  the  saddle. 

Jim  Douglas  noted  these  things  like  his  fellows;  but 
what  sent  that  thrill  of  confidence  through  him  was  the 
look  on  many  a  face,  as  at  some  pause  or  turn  it  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  General's  figure.  It  was  that  heroic 
figure  itself,  seen  for  the  first  time,  riding  ahead  of  all 
with  no  unconsciousness  of  the  attention  it  attracted! 
but  with  a  self-reliant  acceptance  of  the  fact — as  far  from 
modesty  as   it  was  from   vanity — that   here   rode  John 


388  ON    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

Nicholson  ready  to  do  what  John  Nicholson  could  do. 
But  in  the  pale  face,  made  paler  by  the  darkness  of  the 
l)eard,  there  was  more  than  this.  There  was  an  almost 
languid  patience  as  if  the  owner  knew  that  the  men 
around  him  said  of  him,  "  If  ever  there  is  a  desperate 
deed  to  do  in  India,  John  Nicholson  is  the  man  to  do  it," 
and  was  biding  his  time  to  fulfill  their  hopes. 

The  look  haunted  Jim  Douglas  all  day,  stimulating 
him  strangely.  Here  was  a  man,  he  felt,  who  was  in  the 
g-rip  of  Fate,  but  w'ho  gave  back  the  grip  so  firmly  that 
his  Fate  could  not  escape  him.  Gave  it  back  frankly, 
freely,  as  one  man  might  grip  another's  hand  in  friend- 
ship. And  then  he  smiled,  thinking  that  John  Nichol- 
son's hand-clasp  would  go  a  long  way  in  giving  anyone 
a  help  over  a  hard  stile.     If  he  had  had  a  lead-over  like 

that    after    the    smash    came;  if    even    now Idle 

thoughts,  he  told  himself;  and  all  because  the  pictur- 
esqueness  of  a  man's  outward  appearance  had  taken  his 
fancy,  his  imagination.  For  all  he  knew,  or  was  ever 
likely  to  know 

He  had  been  sitting  idly  on  the  edge  of  his  cot  in  the 
tiny  tent  Major  Erlton  had  lent  him,  having  in  truth 
nothing  better  to  do,  and  now  a  voice  from  the  blaze  and 
blare  of  the  heat  and  light  outside  startled  him. 

"  May  I  come  in — John  Nicholson?  " 

He  almost  stammered  in  his  surprise ;  but  without  wait- 
ing for  more  than  a  word  the  General  walked  in,  alone. 
He  was  still  in  full  uniform ;  and  surely  no  man  could  be- 
come it  more,  thought  Jim  Douglas  involuntarily. 

"  I  have  heard  your  story,  Mr.  Douglas,"  he  began  in 
a  sonorous  but  very  pleasant  voice.  "  It  is  a  curious  one. 
And  I  was  curious  to  see  you.  You  must  know  so 
much."  He  paused,  fixed  his  eyes  in  a  perfectly  unem- 
barassed  stare  on  his  host's  face,  then  said  suddenly,  with 
a  sort  of  old-fashioned  courtesy:  "  Sit  you  down  again, 
please ;  there  jsn't  a  chair,  I  see ;  but  the  cot  will  stand 
two  of  us.  If  it  doesn't  it  will  be  clearly  my  fault."  He 
smiled  kindly.     "  Wounded   too — I   didn't   know  that." 

"  A  scratch,  sir,"  put  in  his  hearer  hastily,  fighting  shy 
even  of  that  commiseration.  "  I  had  a  little  fever  in  the 
city;  that  is  all." 


BITS,  BRIDLES,   SPURS.  389 

The  bright  hazel  eyes,  with  a  hint  of  sunhght  in  them, 
took  rather  an  absent  look.  ''  I  should  like  to  have  done 
it  myself.  I've  tried  that  sort  of  thing;  but  they  always 
find  me  out." 

"  I  fancy  you  must  be  rather  difificult  to  disguise,"  be- 
gan Jim  Douglas  with  a  smile,  when  John  Nicholson 
plunged  straight  into  the  heart  of  things. 

"  You  must  know  a  lot  I  want  to  know.  Of  course 
I've  seen  Hodson  and  his  letters;  but  this  is  different. 
Plrst:  Will  the  city  fight?  " 

"  As  well  as  it  knows  how,  and  it  knows  better  than 
it  did." 

"  So  I  fancied.  Hodson  said  not.  By  the  way,  he 
told  me  that  you  declared  his  Intelligence  Department 
was  simply  perfect.  And  his  accounts — I  mean  his  in- 
formation— wonderfully  accurate." 

"  I  did,  indeed,  sir,"  replied  Jim  Douglas,  smiling 
again. 

Nicholson  gave  him  a  sharp  look.  "  And  he  is  a  won- 
derfully fine  soldier  too,  sir;  one  of  the  finest  we  have. 
Wilson  is  sending  him  out  this  afternoon  to  punish  those 
Ranghars  at  Rohtuck.  I  don't  know^  why  I  should  pre- 
sent you  with  this  information,  Mr.  Douglas?" 

"  Don't  you,  sir?  "  was  the  cool  reply;  "  I  think  I  do. 
^lajor  Hodson  may  have  his  faults,  sir,  but  the  Ridge 
couldn't  do  without  him.  And  I'm  glad  to  hear  he  is 
going  out.  It  is  time  we  punished  those  chaps;  time  we 
got  some  grip  on  the  country  again." 

The  General's  face  cleared.  "  Hm,"  he  said,  "  you 
don't  mince  matters;  but  I  don't  think  we  lost  much  grip 
in  the  Punjab.  And  as  for  punishments!  Do  you  know 
over  two  thousand  have  been  executed  already?" 

"  I  don't,  sir;  though  I  knew  Sir  John's  hand  was  out. 
But  if  you'll  excuse  me,  we  don't  Avant  the  hangings  now 
— they  can  come  by-and-by.  We  want  to  lick  them — 
show  them  we  are  not  really  in  a  blind  funk." 

"  You  use  strong  language  too,  sir — ver}-  strong 
language." 

"  I  did  not  say  we  Zc'nr  in  one "  began  Jim  Doug- 
las eagerly,  when  a  voice  asking  if  General  Nicholson 
were  within  interrupted  him. 


39°  OY    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

"  He  is,"  replied  the  sonorous  voice  calmly.  "  Come 
in.  Hodson,  and  I  hope  you  are  prepared  to  fight."  The 
bright  hazel  eyes  met  Jim  Douglas'  with  a  distinct  twin- 
kle in  them;  but  Major  Hodson  entering — a  perfect 
blaze  of  scarlet  and  fawn  and  gold,  loose,  lank,  lavish — 
gave  the  speech  a  different  turn. 

"  I  hope  you'll  excuse  the  intrusion,  sir,"  he  said 
saluting,  as  it  were,  loudly,  "  but  being  certain  I  owed 
this  piece  of  luck  to  your  kind  offices,  I  ventured  to  fol- 
low you.  And  as  for  the  fighting,  sir,  trust  Hodson's 
Horse  to  give  a  good  account  of  itself." 

"  I  do.  Major,  I  do,"  replied  Nicholson  gravely, 
despite  the  twinkle,  *'  but  at  present  I  want  you  to  fight 
Mr.  Douglas  for  me.  He  suggests  we  are  all  in  a  blind 
funk." 

With  anyone  else  Jim  Douglas  might  have  refused 
this  cool  demand,  for  it  was  little  else,  that  he  should  de- 
fend his  statement  against  a  man  who  in  himself 
was  a  refutation  of  it,  wdio  was  a  type  of  the  most  reck- 
less, dare-devil  courage  and  dash;  but  the  thought 
of  that  umpire,  ready  to  give  an  overwhelming  thrust  at 
any  time,  roused  his  temper  and  pugnacity. 

"  I'm  not  conscious  of  being  in  one  myself,"  said  the 
Major,  turning  with  a  swing  and  a  brief  "  How  do,  Doug- 
las." He  was  the  most  martial  of  figures  in  the  last-de- 
veloped uniform  of  the  Flamingoes,  or  the  Ring-tailed 
Roarers,  or  the  Aloo  Bokhara's,  as  Hodson's  levies  were 
called  indiscriminately  during  their  lengthy  process  of 
dress  evolution.  "  And  what  is  more,  I  don't  under- 
stand what  you  mean,  sir!  " 

"  General  Nicholson  does,  I  think,"  replied  the  other. 
"  But  I  will  go  further  than  I  did,  sir,"  he  added,  facing 
the  General  boldly:  "  I  only  said  that  the  natives  thought 
we  were  in  a  blind  funk.  I  now  assert  that  they  had  a 
right  to  say  so.  We  never  stirred  hand  or  foot  for  a 
whole  month." 

"Oh!  I  give  you  in  Meerut,"  interrupted  Hodson 
hastily.     "  It  was  pitiable.     Our  leaders  lost  their  heads." 

"  Not  only  our  leaders.  We  all  lost  them.  From 
that  moment  to  this  it  seems  to  me  we  have  never  been 
calm." 


BITS,  BRIDLES,   SPURS.  391 

"Calm!"  echoed  Hodson  disdainfully.  "Who  wants 
to  be  calm?  Who  would  be  calm  with  those  massacred 
women  and  children  to  avenge." 

"  Exactly  so.  The  horrors  of  those  ghastly  murders 
got  on  our  nerves,  and  no  wonder.  We  exaggerated  the 
position  from  the  first;  we  exaggerate  the  dangers  of  it 
now." 

"  Of  taking  Delhi,  you  mean?  "  interrupted  Nicholson 
dryly. 

Jim  Douglas  smiled.  "  No,  sir!  Even  you  will  find 
that  difficult.  I  meant  the  ultimate  danger  to  our 
rule " 


"  There  you  mistake  utterly,"  put  in  Hodson  magnifi- 
cently. "  \\'e  mean  to  win — we  admit  no  danger.  There 
isn't  an  Englishman,  or,  thank  Heaven,  an  English- 
woman  " 

"  Is  the  crisis  so  desperate  that  we  need  levy  the 
ladies?"  asked  his  adversary  sarcastically.  "  Personally 
I  want  to  leave  them  out  of  the  question  as  much  as  I 
can.  It  is  their  intrusion  into  it  which  has  done  the  mis- 
chief. I  don't  want  to  minimize  these  horrors;  but  if 
we  could  forget  those  massacres " 

"  Forget  them!  I  hope  to  God  every  Englishman 
will  remember  them  when  the  time  comes  to  avenge 
them!  Ay!  and  make  the  murderers  remember  them, 
too." 

"  If  I  had  them  in  my  power  to-day,"  put  in  the 
sonorous  voice,  "  and  knew  I  was  to  die  to-morrow,  I 
would  inflict  the  most  excruciating  tortures  I  could  think 
of  on  them  with  an  easy  conscience." 

"  Bravo!  sir,"  cried  Hodson,  "  and  I'd  do  executioner 
gladly." 

John  Nicholson's  face  flinched  slightly.  "  There  is 
generally  a  common  hangman,  I  believe,"  he  said;  then 
turned  on  Jim  Douglas  with  bent  brows:  "And  you,  sir?  " 

"  I  w^ould  kill  them,  sir;  as  I  would  kill  a  mad  dog  in 
the  quickest  way  handy;  as  I'd  kill  every  man  found  with 
arms  in  his  hands.  Treason  is  a  worse  crime  than  mur- 
der to  us  now;  and  by  God!  if  I  tortured  anyone  it  would 
be  the  men  who  betrayed  the  garrison  at  Cawnpore.  Yet 
even  there,  in  our  only  real  collapse,  what  has  happened? 


392  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

It  is  reoccupied  already — the  road  to  it  is  hung  with 
dead  bodies.  Havelock's  march  is  one  long  procession 
of  success.  Yet  we  count  ourselves  beleaguered.  Why? 
I  can't  understand  it!  Where  has  an  order  to  charge, 
to  advance  boldly,  met  with  a  reverse?  It  seems  to  me 
that  but  for  these  massacres,  this  fear  for  women  and 
children,  we  could  hold  our  own  gayly.  Look  at 
Lucknow " 

"  Yes,  Lucknow,"  assented  Hodson  savagely.  "  Sir 
Henry,  the  bravest,  gentlest,  dead!  Women  and  chil- 
dren pent  up — by  Heaven!  it's  sickening  to  think  what 
may  have  happened." 

John  Nicholson  shot  a  quick  glance  at  Jim  Douglas. 

"  It  proves  my  contention,"  said  the  latter.  "  Think 
of  it!  Fifteen  hundred,  English  and  natives,  in  a  weak 
position  with  not  even  a  palisade  in  some  places  between 
them  and  five  times  their  number  of  trained  soldiers 
backed  by  the  wildest,  wickedest,  wantonest  town  rabble 
in  India!  What  does  it  mean?  Make  every  one  of  the 
fifteen  hundred  a  paladin,  and,  by  Heaven!  they  are 
heroes.     Still,  what  does  it  mean?  " 

He  spoke  to  the  General,  but  he  was  silent. 

"  Mean?  "  echoed  Hodson.  "  Palpably  that  the  foe 
is  contemptible.     So  he  is.     Pandy  can't  fight " 

"  He  fought  well  enough  for  us  in  the  past.     I  know 

my  regiment "    Jim  Douglas  caught  himself  up  hard. 

"  I  believe  they  will  fight  for  us  again.  The  truth  is 
that  half,  even  of  the  army,  does  not  want  to  fight,  and 
the  country  does  not  mean  fight  at  all." 

"  Delhi?  "  came  the  dry  voice  again. 

"  Delhi  is  exceptional.  Besides,  it  can  do  nothing  else 
now.  Remember  we  condemned  it,  unheard,  on  the  8th 
of  June." 

"  I  told  you  that  before,  sir;  didn't  I?  "  put  in  Hodson 
quickly.  "  If  we  had  gone  in  on  the  nth,  as  I  sug- 
gested." 

"  You  wouldn't  have  succeeded,"  replied  Jim  Douglas 
coolly.     Nicholson  rose  with  a  smile. 

"  Well,  we  are  going  to  succeed  now.  So,  good-luck 
in  the  meantime,  Hodson.  Put  bit  and  bridle  on  the 
Ranghars.     Show  them  we  can't  have  'em  disturbing  the 


BITS,  BRIDLES,  SPURS.  393 

public  peace,  and  kicking  up  futile  rows.  Eh — Air. 
Douglas?  " 

"  No  fear,  sir!  "  said  Hodson  effusively.  "  The  Ring- 
tailed  Roarers  are  not  in  a  blind  funk.  I  only  wish  that 
I  was  as  sure  that  the  politicals  will  keep  order  when 
we've  made  it.  I  had  to  do  it  twice  over  at  Bhagput. 
And  it  is  hard,  sir,  when  one  has  fagged  horses  and  men 
to  death,  to  be  told  one  has  exceeded  orders " 

"  If  you  served  under  me,  Alajor  Hodson,''  said  the 
General  with  a  sudden  freeze  of  formality,  "  that  would 
be  impossible.  My  instructions  are  always  to  do  every- 
thing that  can  be  done." 

Jim  Douglas  felt  that  he  could  well  believe  it,  as  with  a 
regret  that  the  interview  was  over,  he  held  the  flap  of  the 
tent  aside  for  the  imperial  figure  to  pass  out.  But  it 
lingered  in  the  blaze  of  sunshine  after  Alajor  Hodson 
had  jingled  ofif. 

"  You  are  right  in  some  things,  Air.  Douglas,"  said  the 
sonorous  voice  suddenly:  "  I'd  ask  no  finer  soldiers  than 
some  of  those  against  us.  By  and  by,  unless  I'm  wrong, 
men  of  their  stock  will  be  our  best  war  weapons;  for, 
mind  you,  war  is  a  prir»itive  art  and  needs  a  primitive 
people.  And  the  country  isn't  against  us.  If  it  were, 
we  shouldn't  be  standing  here.  It  is  too  busy  plowing, 
Mr.  Douglas;  this  rain  is  points  in  our  favor.  As  for 
the  women  and  children — poor  souls  " — his  voice  soft- 
ened infinitely — "  they  have  been  in  our  way  terribly;  but 
— we  shall  fight  all  the  better  for  that,  by  and  by.  Alean- 
while  we  have  got  to  smash  Delhi.  The  odds  are  bigger 
than  they  were  first.     But  Baird  Smith  will  sap  us  in 

somehow,  and  then "     He  paused,  looking  kindly  at 

Jim  Douglas,  and  said,  "  You  had  better  stop  and  go  in 
with — with  the  rest  of  us." 

"  I  think  not,  sir " 

"  Whv?  Because  of  that  poor  ladv?  Woman  again 
—eh?"' 

"  In  a  way;  besides,  I  really  have  nothing  else  to  do." 

John  Nicholson  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  from  head 
to  foot;  then  said  sharply: 

"  I  didn't  know,  sir.  I  give  mv  personal  stafT  plentv 
of  work." 


394  ON    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

For  an  instant  the  offer  took  his  hearer's  breath  away, 
and  he  stood  silent. 

"  I'm  afraid  not,  sir,"  he  said  at  last,  though  from  the 
first  he  had  known  what  his  answer  would  be.  "  I — I 
can't,  that's  the  fact.  I  was  cashiered  from  the  army 
fifteen  years  ago." 

General  Nicholson  stepped  back,  with  sheer  anger  in 
his  face.  "  Then  what  do  you  mean,  sir,  by  wearing  Her 
Majesty's  uniform?  " 

Jim  Douglas  looked  down  hastily  on  old  Tiddu's  staff 
properties,  which  he  had  quite  forgotten.  They  had 
passed  muster  in  the  darkness  of  the  tent,  but  here,  in  the 
sunlight,  looked  inconceivably  worn,  and  shabby,  and  un- 
real. He  smiled  rather  bitterly;  then  held  out  his  sleeve 
to  show  the  braiding. 

"  It's  a  general's  coat,  sir,"  he  said  defiantly.  "  God 
knows  what  old  duffer  it  belonged  to;  but  I  might  have 
worn  it  first-  instead  of  second-hand,  if  I  hadn't  been  a 
d d  young  fool." 

The  splendid  figure  drew  itself  together  formally,  but 
the  other's  pride  was  up  too,  and  so  for  a  minute  the  two 
men  faced  each  other  honestly,  Nicholson's  eyes  narrow- 
ing under  their  bent  brows. 

"  What  was  it?     A  woman,  I  expect." 

"  Perhaps.     I  don't  see  that  it  matters." 

A  faint  smile  of  approval  rather  took  from  the  stern- 
ness of  the  military  salute.  "  Not  at  all.  That  ends  it, 
of  course." 

"  Of  course." 

Not  quite;  for  ere  Jim  Douglas  could  drop  the  cur- 
tain between  himself  and  that  brilliant,  successful  figure, 
it  had  turned  sharply  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
A  curiously  characteristic  hand — large,  thin,  smooth,  and 
white  as  a  woman's,  with  a  grip  in  it  beyond  most  men's. 

"  You  have  a  vile  habit  of  telling  the  truth  to  superior 
officers,  Mr.  Douglas.     So  have  I.     Shake  hands  on  it." 

With  that  hand  on  his  shoulder,  that  clasp  on  his,  Jim 
Douglas  felt  as  if  he  were  in  the  grip  of  Fate  itself,  and 
following  John  Nicholson's  example,  gave  it  back  frankly, 
freelv.  So,  suddenly  the  whole  face  before  him  melted 
into  perfect  friendliness.     "  Stick  to  it,  man — stick  to  it! 


BITS,  BRIDLES,  SPURS.  395 

Save  that  poor  lady — or — or  kill  somebody.  It's  what 
we  are  all  doing.  As  for  the  rest  " — the  smile  was  almost 
boyish — "  I  may  get  the  sack  myself  before  the  general's 
coat.  I'm  insubordinate  enough,  they  tell  me — but  I 
shall  have  taken  Delhi  first.     So — so  good-luck  to  you!  " 

As  he  walked  away,  he  seemed  to  the  eyes  watching 
him  bigger,  more  king-like,  more  heroic  than  ever;  per- 
haps because  they  were  dim  with  tears.  But  as  Jim 
Douglas  went  off  with  a  new  cherfulness  to  see  Hodson's 
Horse  jingle  out  on  their  lesson  of  peace,  he  told  himself 
that  the  old  scoundrel,  Tiddu,  had  once  more  been  right. 
Nikalseyn  had  the  Great  Gift.  He  could  take  a  man's 
heart  out  and  look  at  it,  and  put  it  back  sounder  than  it 
had  been  for  years.  He  could  put  his  own  heart  into  a 
whole  camp  and  make  it  believe  it  was  its  own. 

Such  a  clattering  of  hoofs  and  clinking  of  bits  and 
bridles  had  been  heard  often  before,  but  never  with  such 
gay  light-heartedness.  Only  two  days  before  a  lesson 
had  been  given  to  the  city.  There  had  been  no  more  har- 
rassing  of  pickets  at  night.  Xow  the  arm  of  the  law  was 
going  coolly  to  reach  out  forty  miles.  It  was  a  change 
indeed.  And  more  than  Jim  Douglas  watched  the  sun 
set  red  on  the  city  wall  that  evening  with  a  certain  content 
in  their  hearts.  As  for  him,  he  seemed  still  to  feel  that 
grip,  and  hear  the  voice  saying,  "  Stick  to  it,  man,  stick 
to  it!  Save  that  poor  lady  or  kilj  somebody.  It's  what 
we  are  all  doing." 

He  sat  dreaming  over  the  whole  strange  dream  with 
a  curious  sense  of  comradeship  and  sympathy  through  it 
all,  until  the  glow  faded  and  left  the  city  dark  and  stern 
beneath  the  storm-clouds  which  had  been  gathering  all 
day. 

Then  he  rose  ana  went  back  to  his  tent  cheerfully.  He 
would  run  no  needless  risks;  he  would  not  lose  his  head; 
but  as  soon  as  the  doctors  said  it  was  safe,  he  would  find 
and  save  Kate,  or — kill  somebody.  That  was  the  whole 
duty  of  man. 

Kate,  however,  had  already  been  found,  or  rather  she 
had  never  been  lost;  and  when  Tara,  a  few  hours  after 
Jim  Douglas  slipped  out  of  the  city,  had  gone  to  the  roof 
to  fetch  away  her  spinning  wheel,  and  finding  the  door 


396  ON    THE   FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

padlocked  on  the  inside,  had  in  sheer  bewilderment  tried 
the  effect  of  a  signal  knock,  Kate  had  let  her  in  as  if,  so 
poor  Tara  told  herself,  it  was  all  to  begin  over  again. 

All  over  again,  e/en  though  she  had  spent  those  few 
hours  of  freedom  in  a  perfect  passion  of  purification,  so 
that  she  might  return  to  her  saintship  once  more. 

The  gold  circlets  were  gone  already,  her  head  was 
shaven,  the  coarse  white  shroud  had  replaced  the  crim- 
son scarf.  Yet  here  was  the  mem  asking  for  the  Huzoor, 
and  setting  her  blood  on  fire  with  vague  jealousies. 

She  squatted  down  almost  helplessly  on  the  floor, 
answering  all  Kate's  eager  questions,  until  suddenly  in 
the  midst  of  it  all  she  started  to  her  feet,  and  flung  up  her 
arms  in  the  old  wild  cry  for  righteousness,  "  I  am  suttee! 
before  God!  I  am  suttee!  " 

Then  she  had  said  with  a  gloomy  calm,  "  I  will  bring 
the  mem  more  food  and  drink.  But  I  must  think.  Tiddu 
is  away;  Soma  will  not  help.  I  am  alone;  but  I  am 
suttee." 

Kate,  frightened  at  her  w'ild  eyes,  felt  relieved  when 
she  was  left  alone,  and  inclined  not  to  open  the  door  to 
her  again.  She  could  manage,  she  told  herself,  as  she 
had  managed,  for  a  few  days,  and  by  that  time  Mr.  Grey- 
man  would  have  come  back.  But  as  the  long  hours 
dragged  by,  giving  her  endless  opportunity  of  thought, 
she  began  to  ask  herself  why  he  should  come  back  at  all. 
She  had  not  realized  at  first  that  he  had  escaped,  that  he 
was  safe;  that  he  was,  as  it  w^ere,  quit  of  her.  But  he 
was,  and  he  must  remain  so.  A  new  decision,  almost  a 
content,  came  to  her  with  the  suggestion.  She  was  busy 
in  a  moment  over  details.  To  begin  with,  no  news  must 
be  sent.  Then,  in  case  he  were  to  return,  she  must  leave 
the  roof.  Tara  might  do  so  much  for  her,  especially  if 
it  was  made  clear  that  it  was  for  the  master's  benefit. 
But  Tara  might  never  return.  There  had  been  that  in 
her  manner  which  hinted  at  such  a  possibility,  and  the 
stores  she  had  brought  in  had  been  unduly  lavish.  In 
that  case,  Kate  told  herself,  she  would  creep  out  some 
night,  go  back  to  the  Princess  F'arkhoonda,  and  see  if 
she  could  not  help.     If  not,  there  was  always  the  alterna- 


BITS,  BRIDLES,  SPURS.  397 

tive  of  ending  everything  by  going  into  the  streets  boldly 
and  declaring  herself  a  Christian.  But  she  would  appeal 
to  these  two  women  first. 

And  as  she  sat  resolving  this,  the  two  women  were 
cursing  her  in  their  inmost  hearts.  For  there  had  been 
no  hangings  of  drums  or  thrumming  of  siitdras  on  Ne- 
wasi's  roof  these  three  days.  Abool-Bukr  had  broken 
away  from  her  kind,  detaining  hand,  and  gone  back 
to  the  intrigues  of  the  Palace.  So  the  Mufti's  quarter 
benefited  in  decent  quiet,  during  which  the  poor  Prin- 
cess began  that  process  of  weeping  her  eyes  out,  which 
left  her  blind  at  last.  But  not  blind  yet.  And  so  she  sat 
swaying  gracefully  before  the  book-rest,  on  which  lay  the 
Word  of  her  God,  her  voice  quavering  sometimes  over 
the  monotonous  chant,  as  she  tried  to  distill  comfort  to 
her  own  heart  from  the  proposition  that  "  He  is  Might 
and  Right." 

And  far  away  in  another  quarter  of  the  town  Tara, 
crouched  up  before  a  mere  block  of  stone,  half  hidden 
in  flowers,  was  telling  her  beads  feverishly.  '' Rain- 
Rdm-Sita-Rdm!^'  That  was  the  form  she  used  for  a 
whole  tragedy  of  appeal  and  aspiration,  remorse,  despair, 
and  hope.  And  as  she  muttered  on,  looking  dully  at  the 
little  row  of  platters  she  had  presented  to  the  shrine  that 
morning — going  far  beyond  necessity  in  her  determi- 
nation to  be  heard — the  groups  of  women  coming  in  to 
lav  a  fresh  chaplet  among  the  withered  ones  and  give  a 
"  jow  "  to  the  deep-toned  bell  hung  in  the  archway  in 
order  to  attract  the  god's  attention  to  their  offering, 
paused  to  whisper  among  themselves  of  her  piety.  While 
more  than  once  a  widow  crept  close  to  kiss  the  edge  of 
her  veil  humbly. 

It  was  balm  mdeed!  It  was  peace.  The  mem  might 
starve,  she  told  herself  fiercely,  but  she  would  be  suttee. 
After  all  the  strain,  and  the  pain,  and  the  wondering  ache 
at  her  heart,  she  had  come  back  to  her  own  life.  This 
she  understood.  Let  the  Huzoors  keep  to  their  own. 
This  was  hers. 

The  sun  danced  in  motes  through  the  branches  of  the 
peepul  tree  above  the  little  shrine,  the  squirrels  chirruped 


39^  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

among  them,  the  parrots  chattered,  sending  a  rain  of  soft 
little  figs  to  fall  with  a  faint  sound  on  the  hard  stones,  and 
still  Tara  counted  her  beads  feverishly. 

"  Ram-Rdm-Sita-Ram!     Rdm-Rdm-Sita-Rdm! " 

"  Ari !  sisters !  she  is  a  saint  indeed.  She  was  here  at 
dawn  and  she  prays  still,"  said  the  women,  coming  in  the 
lengthening  shadows  with  odd  little  bits  of  feastings.  A 
handful  of  cocoa-nut  chips,  a  platter  of  flour,  a  dish  of 
curds,  or  a  dab  of  butter. 

"  Rdm-Rdin-S ita-Rdm !  " 

And  all  the  while  poor  Tara  was  thinking  of  the 
Huzoor's  face,  if  he  ever  found  out  that  she  had  left  the 
mem  to  starve.  It  was  almost  dark  when  she  stood  up, 
abandoning  the  useless  struggle,  so  she  waited  to  see  the 
sacred  Circling  of  the  Lights  and  get  her  little  sip  of  holy 
water  before  she  went  back  to  her  perch  among  the  pig- 
eons, to  put  on  the  crimson  scarf  and  the  gold  circlets 
again.  Since  it  was  hopeless  trying  to  be  a  saint  till  she 
had  done  what  she  had  promised  the  Huzoor  she  would 
do.     She  must  go  back  to  the  mem  first. 

But  Kate,  opening  the  door  to  her  with  eyes  a-glitter 
and  a  whole  cut-and-dried  plan  for  the  future,  almost 
took  her  breath  away,  and  reduced  her  into  looking  at 
the  Englishwoman  with  a  sort  of  fear. 

"  The  mem  will  be  suttee  too,"  she  said  stupidly,  after 
listening  a  while.  "  The  mem  will  shave  her  head  and 
put  away  her  jewels!  The  mem  will  wear  a  widow's 
shroud  and  sweep  the  floor,  saying  she  comes  from  Ben- 
gal to  serve  the  saint?  " 

"  I  do  not  care,  Tara,  how  it  is  done.  Perhaps  you 
may  have  a  better  plan.  But  we  must  prevent  the  mas- 
ter from  finding  me  again.  He  has  done  too  much  for 
me  as  it  is;  you  know  he  has,"  replied  Kate,  her  eyes 
shining  like  stars  with  determination.  "  I  only  w^ant  you 
to  save  him ;  that  is  all.  You  may  take  me  away  and  kill 
me  if  you  like;  and  if  you  won't  help  me  to  hide,  I'll  go 
out  into  the  streets  and  let  them  kill  me  there.  I  will  not 
have  him  risk  his  life  for  me  again." 

"  RdiiJ-Rdiii-Sifa-Rdiu! ''  said  Tara  under  her  breath. 
That  settled  it,  and  at  dawn  the  next  day  Tara  stood  in 
her  odd  little  perch  above  the  shrine  among  the  pigeons, 


£ITS,  BRIDLES,  SPURS.  399 

looking  down  curiously  at  the  mem  who,  wearied  out  by 
her  long  midnight  walk  through  the  city  and  all  the  ex- 
citement of  the  day,  had  dozed  off  on  a  bare  mat  in  the 
corner,  her  head  resting  on  her  arm.  Three  months 
ago  Kate  could  not  have  slept  without  a  pillow;  now, 
as  she  lay  on  the  hard  ground,  her  face  looked  soft  and 
peaceful  in  sheer  honest  dreamless  sleep.  But  Tara  had 
not  slept;  that  was  to  be  told  from  the  anxious  strain  of 
her  eyes.  She  had  sat  out  since  she  had  returned  home, 
on  her  two  square  yards  of  balcony  in  the  waning  moon- 
light, looking  down  on  the  unseen  shrine,  hidden  by  the 
tall  peepul  tree  whose  branches  she  cov;ld  almost  touch. 

Would  the  mem  really  be  suttee?  she  had  asked  herself 
again  and  again.  Would  she  do  so  much  for  the  master? 
Would  she — would  she  really  shave  her  head?  A  grim 
smile  of  incredulity  came  to  Tara's  face,  then  a  quick, 
sharp  frown  of  pain.  If  she  did,  she  mvist  care  very  much 
for  the  Huzoor.  Besides,  she  had  no  right  to  do  it!  The 
mems  were  never  suttee.  They  married  again  many 
times.  And  then  this  mem  was  married  to  someone  else. 
Xo!  she  would  never  shave  her  head  for  a  strange  man. 
She  might  take  off  her  jewels,  she  might  even  sweep  the 
floor.     But  shave  her  head?     Never! 

But  supposing  she  did? 

The  oddest  jumble  of  jealousy  and  approbation  filled 
Tara's  heart.  So,  as  the  yellow  dawn  broke,  she  bent 
over  Kate. 

"  \\'ake,  mem  sahib!  "  she  said,  "wake.  It  is  time  to 
prepare  for  the  day.     It  is  time  to  get  ready." 

Kate  started  up,  rubbing  her  eyes,  wondering  where 
she  was;  as  in  truth  she  well  might,  for  she  had  never 
been  in  such  a  place  before.  The  long,  low  slip  of  a  room 
was  absolutely  empty  save  for  a  reed  mat  or  two;  but 
every  inch  of  it,  floor,  walls,  ceiling,  was  freshly  plastered 
with  mud.  That  on  the  floor  was  still  wet,  for  Tara  had 
been  at  work  on  it  already.  Over  each  doorway  hung  a 
faded  chaplet,  on  each  lintel  was  printed  the  mark  of  a 
bloody  hand,  and  round  and  about,  in  broad  finger-marks 
of  red  and  white,  ran  the  eternal  Rdm-Rdm-S ita-Rdm  in 
Sanskrit  letterings.  In  truth,  Tara's  knowledge  of  secu- 
lar and  religious  learning  was  strictly  confined  to  this 


400  ON  THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

sentence.  There  was  a  faint  smell  of  incense  in  the 
room,  rising  from  a  tiny  brazier  sending  up  a  blue  spiral 
flame  of  smoke  before  a  two-inch  high  brass  idol  with  an 
elephant's  head  which  sat  on  a  niche  in  the  wall.  It  rep- 
resented Eternal  Wisdom.  But  Kate  did  not  know  this. 
Nor  in  a  way  did  Tara.  She  only  knew  it  was  Gunesh- 
jee.  And  outside  was  the  yellow  dawn,  the  purple 
pigeons  beginning  to  coo  and  sidle,  the  quivering  hearts 
of  the  peepul  leaves. 

"  I  have  everything  ready  for  the  mem,"  began  Tara 
hurriedly,  '*  if  she  will  take  off  her  jewels." 

"  You  must  pull  this  one  open  for  me,  Tara,"  said 
Kate,  holding  out  her  arm  with  the  gold  bangle  on  it. 
"  The  master  put  it  on  for  me,  and  I  have  never  had  it 
ofif  since." 

Tara  knew  that  as  well  as  she.  Knew  that  the  master 
must  have  put  it  on,  since  she  had  not.  Had,  in  fact, 
watched  it  with  jealous  eyes  over  and  over  again.  And 
there  was  the  mem  without  it,  smiling  over  the  scantiness 
and  the  intricacies  of  a  coarse  cotton  shroud. 

"  There  is  the  hair  yet,"  said  Tara  with  quite  a  catch  in 
her  voice;  "if  the  mem  will  undo  the  plaits,  I  will  go 
round  to  the  old  poojarnis  and  get  the  loan  of  her 
razor — she  only  lives  up  the  next  stair." 

"  We  shall  have  to  snip  it  ofif  first,"  said  Kate  quite 
eagerly,  for,  in  truth,  she  was  becoming  interested  in  her 
own  adventures,  now  that  she  had,  as  it  were,  the  con- 
trol over  them.  "  It  is  so  long."  She  held  up  a  tress  as 
she  spoke.  It  was  beautiful  hair;  soft,  wavy,  even,  and 
the  dye — unrenewed  for  days — had  almost  gone,  leaving 
the  coppery  sheen  distinct. 

"  She  would  never  cut  it  off!  "  said  Tara  to  herself  as 
she  went  for  the  razor.  No  woman  would  ever  shave 
her  head  willingly.  Why!  when  she  had  had  it  done 
for  the  first  time,  she  had  screamed  and  fought.  Her 
mother-in-law  had  held  her  hands,  and 

She  paused  at  the  door  as  she  re-entered,  paralyzed  by 
what  she  saw.  Kate  had  found  the  knife  Tara  used  for 
her  limited  cooking,  and,  seated  on  the  grovmd  cheer- 
fully, was  already  surrounded  by  rippling  hair  which  she 
had  cut  ofif  by  clubbing  it  in  her  hand  and  sawing  away 
as  a  groom  does  at  a  horse's  tail. 


BITS,  BRIDLES,   SPURS.  4^1 

Tara's  cry  made  her  pause.  The  next  moment  the 
Rajpootni  had  snatched  the  knife  from  her  and  flung  it 
one  way,  the  razor  another,  and  stood  before  her  with 
blazing  eyes  and  heaving  breast. 

"It  is  fooUshness!"  she  said  fiercely.  "The  mems 
cannot  be  suttee.     I  will  not  have  it." 

Kate  stared  at  her.     "  But  1  must "  she  began. 

"There  is  no  must  at  all,"  interrupted  Tara  superbly; 
"  I  will  find  some  other  way."  And  then  she  bent  over 
quickly,  and  Kate  felt  her  hands  upon  her  hair.  "  There 
is  plenty  left,"  she  said  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  I  will 
plait  it  up  so  that  no  one  will  see  the  difference." 

And  she  did.  She  put  the  gold  bangle  on  again  also, 
and  by  dawn  the  next  day  Kate  found  herself  once  more 
installed  as  a  screened  woman ;  but  this  time  as  a  Hindoo 
lady  under  a  vow  of  silence  and  solitude  in  the  hopes  of 
securing  a  son  for  her  lord  through  the  intercession  of 
old  Anunda,  the  Swami. 

"  I  have  told  Sri  Anunda,"  said  Tara  with  a  new 
respect  in  her  manner.  "  I  had  to  trust  someone.  And 
lie  is  as  God.  He  would  not  hurt  a  fly."  She  paused, 
then  went  on  with  a  tone  of  satisfaction,  "  But  he  says 
the  mem  could  not  have  been  suttee,  so  that  foolishness 
is  well  over." 

"  But  what  is  to  be  done  next,  Tara?  "  asked  Kate, 
looking  in  astonishment  round  the  wide  old  garden, 
arched  over  by  tall  forest  trees,  a'nd  set  round  with  high 
walls,  in  which  she  found  herself.  In  the  faint  dawn  she 
could  just  see  glimmering  straight  paths  parceling  it  out 
into  squares;  and  she  could  hear  the  faint  tinkle  of  the 
water  runnels.     "  I  can't  surely  stop  here." 

"  The  mem  will  only  have  to  keep  still  all  day  in  the 
darkest  corner  w'th  her  face  to  the  wall,"  said  Tara. 
■'  Sri  Anunda  will  do  the  rest.  And  when  Soma  returns 
he  must  take  the  mem  away  before  the  thirty  regiments 
come  and  the  trouble  begins." 

"  Thirty  regiments!  "  echoed  Kate,  startled. 

"  He  and  others  have  gone  out  to  see  if  it  is  true. 
They  say  so  in  the  Palace;  but  it  is  full  of  lies,"  said 
Tara  indififerently. 

It  was  indeed.     IMore  than  ever.     But  they  began  to 


40  2  ON    THE   FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

need  confirmation,  and  so  there  was  big  talk  of  action, 
and  jingling  of  bits  and  bridles  and  spurs  in  the  city  as 
well  as  in  the  camp.  They  were  to  intercept  the  siege 
train  from  Firozpur;  they  were  to  get  round  to  the  rear 
of  the  Ridge  and  overwhelm  it.  They  were  to  do  every- 
thing save  attack  it  in  face. 

And,  meanwhile,  other  people  besides  Soma  and 
such-like  Sadducean  sepoys  had  gone  out  to  find  the 
thirty  regiments,  and  secret  scouts  from  the  Palace  were 
hunting  about  for  someone  to  whom  they  might  deliver  a 
letter  addressed 

"  To  the  Officers,  Subadars,  Chiefs,  and  others  of  the 
whole  military  force  coming  from  the  Bombay  Presi- 
dency: 

"  To  the  effect  that  the  statement  of  the  defeat  of  the 
Royal  troops  at  Delhi  is  a  false  and  lying  fabrication  con- 
trived by  contemptible  infidels — the  English.  The  true 
story  is  that  nearly  eighty  or  ninety  thousand  organized 
Military  Troops,  and  nearly  ten  or  fifteen  thousand  regu- 
lar and  other  Cavalry,  are  now  here  in  Delhi.  The 
troops  are  constantly  engaged,  night  and  day,  in  attacks 
on  the  infidels,  and  have  driven  back  their  batteries  from 
the  Ridge.  In  three  or  four  days,  please  God,  the  whole 
Ridge  will  be  taken,  when  every  one  of  the  base  unbe- 
lievers will  be  sent  to  hell.  You  are,  therefore,  on  seeing 
this  order,  to  use  all  endeavors  to  reach  the  Royal  Pres- 
ence, so,  joining  the  Faithful,  give  proofs  of  zeal,  and 
establish  your  renown.     Consider  this  imperative." 

But  though  they  hunted  high  and  low,  east,  north, 
south,  and  west,  the  Royal  scouts  found  no  one  to  re- 
ceive the  order.  So  it  came  back  to  Delhi,  damp  and 
pulpy;  for  the  rains  had  begun  again,  turning  great 
tracts  of  country  into  marsh  and  bog,  and  generally 
wetting  the  blankets  in  which  the  sepoys  kept  guard 
sulkilv. 


THE  BEGINNING   OF   THE  END.  4o3 

CHAPTER    III. 
THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE    END. 

They  drenched  Kate  Erlton  also,  despite  the  arcaded 
trees  above  her  corner  as  she  sat  with  her  face  to  the 
wall  in  the  wide  old  garden.  At  first  her  heart  beat  at 
each  step  on  the  walk  behind  her,  but  she  soon  realized 
that  she  was  hidden  by  her  vow,  happed  about  from  the 
possibility  of  intrvision  by  her  penance.  But  not  many 
steps  came  by  her;  they  kept  chiefly  to  the  other  end  of 
the  garden  where  Sri  Anunda  was  to  be  found.  It  was 
a  curious  experience.  There  was  a  yard  of  two  of  thatcii, 
screened  by  matting  and  suported  by  bamboos,  leaning 
not  far  olT  against  the  wall;  and  into  this  she  crept  at 
night  to  find  the  indulgence  of  a  dry  blanket.  At  first  she 
felt  mclined  to  seek  its  shelter  when  the  rain  poured 
loudly  on  the  leaves  above  her  and  fell  thence  in  big 
blobs,  making  a  noise  like  the  little  ripe  figs  when  the 
squirrels  shook  them  down;  but  the  remembrance  that 
such  women  as  Tara  performed  like  vows  cheerfully 
kept  her  steady.  And  after  a  day  or  two  she  often 
started  to  find  it  was  already  noon  or  dusk,  the  day  half 
gone  or  done.  Time  sHpped  by  with  incredible  swiftness 
in  watching  the  squirrels  and  the  birds,  in  counting  the 
raindrops  fall  from  a  peepul  leaf.  And  what  a  strange 
peace  and  contentment  the  life  brought!  As  she  sat 
after  dark  in  the  thatch,  eating  the  rice  and  milk  and 
fruit  which  Tara  brought  her  stealthily,  she  felt,  at  times, 
a  terrified  amaze  at  herself.  If  she  ever  came  through 
the  long  struggle  for  life,  this  surely  would  be  the 
strangest  part  of  the  dream.  Tara,  indeed,  used  to  re- 
mark with  a  satisfied  smile  that  though  the  mem  could 
not  of  course  be  suttee,  still  she  did  very  well  as  a  devoted 
and  repentant  wife.  Sri  Anunda  could  never  have  had 
a  better  penitent.  And  then,  in  reply  to  Kate's  curious 
questions,  she  would  say  that  Sri  Anunda  was  a  Swami. 
If  the  mem  once  saw  and  spoke  to  him  she  would  know 
what  that  meant.  He  had  lived  in  the  garden  for  fifteen 
years.     Not  as  a  penance.     A  Swami  needed  no  penance 


404  OiV    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

as  men  and  women  did;  for  he  was  not  a  man.     Oh,  dear 
no!  not  a  man  at  all. 

So  Kate,  going  on  this  hint  of  inhumanity,  and  guided 
by  her  conventional  ideas  of  Hindoo  ascetics,  imagined 
a  monstrosity,  and  felt  rather  glad  than  otherwise  that 
Sri  Anunda  kept  out  of  her  way. 

She  was  eager  also  to  know  how  long  she  might  have 
to  stay  in  his  garden.  The  vow,  Tara  said,  lasted  for 
fifteen  days.  Till  then  no  one  would  question  her  right 
to  sit  and  look  at  the  wall;  and  by  that  time  Soma  would - 
have  returned,  and  a  plan  for  getting  the  mem  away  to 
the  Ridge  settled.  For  the  master  was  evidently  not  go- 
ing to  return  to  the  city;  perhaps  he  had  forgotten  the 
mem?  Kate  smiled  at  this,  drearily,  thinking  that  in- 
deed he  might;  for  he  might  be  dead.  But  even  this 
tmcertainty  about  all  things,  save  that  she  sat  and 
watched  the  squirrels  and  the  birds,  had  ceased  to  dis- 
turb her  peace. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  he  was  thinking  of  her 
more  than  ever,  and  with  a  sense  of  proprietorship  that 
was  new  to  him.  Here,  by  God's  grace,  was  the  one 
woman  for  him  to  save;  the  somebody  to  kill,  should  he 
fail,  needing  no  selection.  There  were  enough  enemies 
and  to  spare  within  the  walls  still,  even  though  they  had 
been  melting  away  of  late.  But  a  new  one  had  come  to 
the  Ridge  itself,  which,  though  it  killed  few,  sapped 
steadily  at  the  vigor  of  the  garrison.  This  was  the 
autumnal  fever,  bad  at  Delhi  in  all  years,  worse  than 
usual  in  this  wet  season,  counterbalancing  the  benefit  of 
the  coolness  and  sending  half  a  regiment  to  hospital  one 
day  and  letting  them  out  of  it  the  next,  sensibly  less  fit 
for  arduous  work.  It  claimed  Jim  Douglas,  already 
weakened  by  it,  and  made  his  wound  slow  of  healing. 

"  You  haven't  good  luck  certainly,"  said  Major  Erlton, 
finding  him  with  chattering  teeth  taking  quinine  dismally. 
"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  though  I'm  a  lot  thinner, 
this  life  seems  to  suit  me.     I  haven't  felt  so  fit  for  ages." 

He  had  not  been  so  fit,  in  truth.  It  was  a  healthier, 
simpler  life  than  he  had  led  for  many  a  long  year;  and 
ever  since  John  Nicholson  had  bidden  him  go  back  to 
his  tent  and  sleep,  even  the  haggardness  had  left  his  face; 


THE  BEGINNING   OF    THE  END.  4^5 

the  restlessness  having  been  replaced  by  an  eager  cer- 
tainty of  success.  He  was  coming  steadily  to  the  front, 
too,  so  the  Ridge  said,  since  Nicholson  had  taken  him  up. 
And  he  had  well  deserved  this,  since  there  was  not  a  bet- 
ter soldier;  cool,  stubborn,  certain  to  carry  out  orders. 
The  very  man.  in  short,  whom  men  like  the  General 
wanted;  and  if  he  stayed  to  the  finish  he  would  have  a 
distinguished  career  before  him. 

But  Herbert  Erlton  himself  never  thought  of  this;  he 
hated  thought  instinctively,  and  of  late  had  even  given  up 
thinking  of  the  city.  He  never  sat  and  watched  the  rose- 
red  walls  now.  Perhaps  because  he  was  too  busy.  So 
he  left  that  to  Jim  Douglas,  who  had  nothing  else  to  do, 
while  he  went  about  joyously  preparing  to  accompany 
Nicholson  in  his  next  lesson  of  law  and  order. 

For  in  the  city  it  was  becoming  more  and  more  difficult 
every  day  to  make  the  lies  pass  muster,  even  in  the  Pal- 
ace; and  so,  in  despair,  the  four  Commanders-in-Chief 
for  once  had  laid  their  heads  together  and  concocted  a 
plan  for  intercepting  the  siege  train  from  Ferozpur.  So 
it  was  necessary  that  they  should  be  taught  the  futility 
of  such  attempts.  Not  that  even  the  Palace  people  really 
believed  them  possible.  How  could  they?  when  almost 
every  day,  now,  letters  came  to  the  Ridge  from  some 
member  or  another  of  the  Royal  family  asking  effusively 
how  he  could  serve  the  English  cause.  Only  the  old 
King,  revising  his  lists  of  prece'dence,  listening  still  to 
brocaded  bags,  taking  cooling  draughts,  making  coup- 
lets, being  cozened  by  the  Queen,  and  breathed  upon 
by  Hussan  Askuri,  hovered  between  the  policy  of  being 
the  great  Moghul  and  a  poor  prisoner  in  the  hands  of 
fate.  But  the  delights  of  the  former  were  too  much  for 
him  as  a  rule,  and  he  would  sit  and  finger  the  single  gold 
coin  which  had  come  as  a  present  from  Oude  as  if  he 
were  to  have  the  chance  of  minting  millions  with  a  simi- 
lar inscription. 

"  Bahadur  Shah  Ghazee  has  struck  upon  gold  the  coin 
of  Victory." 

Even  in  its  solitary  grandeur  it  had.  in  truth,  a  sur- 
passing dignity  of  its  own  in  the  phrase — "  struck  upon 
gold  the  coin  of  Victory."     So,  looking  at  it,  he  forgot 


4o6  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

that  it  was  a  mere  sample,  sent,  as  the  accompanying 
brocaded  bag  said,  with  a  promise  to  pay  more  when 
more  victory  brought  more  gold.  But  Zeenut  Maihl,  as 
she  looked  at  it,  thought  with  a  sort  of  fury  of  certain  gold 
within  reach,  hidden  in  her  house.  What  was  to  become 
of  these  coins  with  John  Company's  mark  on  them?  For 
she  still  lingered  in  the  Palace.  Other  women  had  fied, 
but  she  was  wiser  than  they.  She  knew  that,  come  what 
might,  her  life  was  safe  with  the  English  as  victors;  so 
there  was  nothing  but  the  gold  to  think  of.  The  gold, 
and  Jewun  Bukht,  her  son.  The  royal  signet  was  in  her 
possession  altogether  now,  and  sometimes  the  orders, 
especially  when  they  were  for  payment  of  money,  had  to 
go  without  it,  because  "  the  Queen  of  the  World  was 
asleep."  But  she  did  not  dream.  That  was  over;  though 
in  a  way  she  clung  fiercely  to  hope.  So  Ghaus  Khan 
with  the  Neemuch  Brigade,  and  Bukht  Khan  with  the 
Bareilly  Brigade,  and  Khair  Sultan  with  the  scrapings 
and  leavings  of  the  regiments,  who,  owning  no  leader  of 
their  own,  did  what  was  right  in  their  own  eyes,  set  out 
to  intercept  the  big  guns;  and  Nicholson  set  out  on  the 
dawn  of  the  25th  to  intercept  them. 

The  rain  poured  down  in  torrents,  the  guns  sank  to 
their  axles  in  mud,  the  infantry  slipped  and  slithered, 
the  cavalry  were  blinded  by  the  mire  from  the  flounder- 
ing horses.  So  from  daybreak  till  sunset  the  little  force, 
two  thousand  in  all — more  than  one-half  of  whom  were 
natives — labored  eighteen  miles  through  swamps.  At 
noon,  it  is  true,  they  called  a  halt  nine  miles  out  at  a 
village  where  the  women  clustered  on  the  housetops  in 
wild  alarm,  remembering  a  day — months  back — when 
they  had  clustered  round  an  unleavened  cake,  and  the 
head-man's  wife  had  bidden  them  listen  to  the  master's 
gun  over  the  far  horizon. 

They  were  to  listen  to  it  again  that  day.  For  the 
enemy  was  ten  miles  further  over  the  marshes;  and  it 
was  but  noon.  The  force,  no  doubt,  had  been  afoot  since 
four;  but  General  Nicholson  was  emphatically  not  an 
eight-hour  man.  So  the  shovings  and  slitherings  of 
guns  and  mortals  began  again  cheerfully. 

Still  it  was  nigh  on  sundown  when,  across  a  deep 


THE  BEGINNING   OF    THE   END.  ^0'] 

stream  flowing  from  the  big  marshes  to  the  west,  these 
contract-workers  came  on  the  job  they  were  eager  to 
finish  ere  nightfall.  Six  thousand  rebels  of  all  arms, 
holding  three  villages,  a  bastioned  old  serai,  and  a  town. 
It  was  a  strong  position,  in  the  right  angle  formed  by 
the  stream  and  the  flooded  canal  into  which  it  flowed. 
Water,  impassable  save  by  an  unknown  ford  in  the 
stream,  by  a  bridge  held  in  force  over  the  canal,  on  two 
sides  of  it.  On  the  others  dismal  swamps.  A  desper- 
ately strong  position  to  attack  at  sundowni  after  eighteen 
miles  slithering  and  shoving  in  the  pouring  rain;  espe- 
cially with  unknown  odds  against  you.  Not  less,  any- 
how, than  three  to  one.  But  John  Nicholson  had  a 
single  eye;  that  is,  an  eye  which  sees  one  salient  point. 
Here,  it  was  that  bridge  to  the  left,  leading  back  to  safe 
shelter  within  the  walls  of  Delhi.  A  cowardly  foe  must 
have  no  chance  of  using  that  bridge  during  silent  night 
watches.  So,  without  a  pause,  fifteen  hundred  of  the 
two  thousand  waded  breast-high  across  the  stream  to 
attack  the  six  thousand,  Nicholson  himself  riding  ahead 
for  a  hasty  reconnoissance,  since  the  growing  dusk  left 
scant  leisure  for  anything  save  action.  Yet  once  more 
a  glance  was  sufficient;  and,  ere  the  men,  exposed  to  a 
heavy  fire  of  grape  in  crossing  the  ford,  were  ready  to 
advance,  the  orders  were  given. 

There  was  a  hint  of  cover  in  some  rising  ground  before 
the  old  serai — the  strongest  poifit  of  the  defense.  He 
would  utilize  this,  rush  the  position,  change  front,  and 
sweep  down  on  the  bridge.  That  must  not  remain  as  a 
chance  for  cowards  an  instant  longer  than  he  could  help ; 
for  Nicholson  in  everything  he  did  seems  never  to  have 
contemplated  defeat. 

So  flanked  by  the  guns,  supported  by  squadrons  of 
the  9th  Lancers  and  the  Guides  cavalry,  the  three  regi- 
ments ^  marched  steadily  toward  the  rising  ground,  fol- 
lowing that  colossal  figure  riding,  as  ever,  ahead.  Till 
suddenly,  as  his  charger's  feet  touched  the  highest 
ground,  Nicholson  wheeled  and  held  up  his  hand  to  those 
below  him. 

"  Lie  down,  men!  "  came  his  clear  strong  voice  as  he 

*6ist,  1st  Fusiliers,  2d  Punjabees, 


4o8  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

rode  slowly  along  the  line;  "  lie  down  and  listen  to  what 
Tve  got  to  say.     It's  only  a  few  words." 

So,  sheltered  from  the  fire,  they  lay  and  listened. 
"  You  of  the  6ist  know  what  Sir  Colin  Campbell  said 
to  you  at  Chillianwallah.  He  said  the  same  thing 
to  others  at  the  Alma.  I  say  it  to  you  all  now.  '  Hold 
your  fire  till  within  twenty  or  thirty  yards  of  that  battery, 
and  then,  my  boys!  we  will  make  short  work  of  it! '  " 

Men  cannot  cheer  lying  on  their  stomachs,  but  the 
unmelodious  grunt — "  We  will,  sir,  by  God,  we  will!  " — 
was  as  good  as  one. 

Nicholson  faced  round  on  the  serai  again,  and  gave 
the  order  to  the  artillery.  So,  in  sharp  thuds  widening 
into  a  roar,  the  flanking  guns  began  work.  Half  a  dozen 
rounds  or  so,  and  then  the  rider — motionless  as  a  statue 
in  the  center — looked  back  quickly,  waved  his  sword, 
and  went  on.  The  men  were  up,  after  him,  over  the 
hillock,  into  the  morass  beyond,  silently. 

'*  Steady,  men!  steady  with  it.  On  with  you!  Steady!  " 

They  listened  to  the  clear  sonorous  voice  once  more, 
though  there  was  no  shelter  now  from  the  grape  and 
canister,  and  musket  balls;  or  rather  only  the  shelter  of 
that  one  tall  figure  ahead  riding  at  a  foot's-pace. 

"Steady!  Hold  your  lire!  I'll  give  the  word,  never 
fear!     Come  on!     Come  on!" 

So  through  a  perfect  bog  they  stumbled  on  doggedly. 
Here  and  there  a  man  fell;  but  men  will  fall  sometimes. 

"  Now  then!     Let  them  have  it." 

They  were  within  the  limit.  Twenty  yards  ofif  lay  the 
guns.  There  was  one  furious  volley;  above  it  one  word 
answered  by  a  cheer. 

So  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet  the  serai  was  carried. 
Then  without  a  pause  the  troops  changed  front  with  a 
swiftness  unforeseen  and  swept  on  to  the  left. 

"To  Delhi,  brothers!  To  Delhi!"  The  old  cry, 
begun  at  Meerut,  rose  now  with  a  new  meaning  as  the 
panic-stricken  guns  limbered  up  and  made  for  the 
bridge.  Too  late!  Captain  Blunt's  were  after  them, 
chasing  them.  The  wheel  of  the  foremost,  driven  wildly, 
jammed;  those  following  couldn't  pull  vip.  So,  helter 
skelter,  they  were  in  a  jumble,  out  of  which  Englishmen 


THE   BEGINNING   OF    THE   END.  409 

helped  the  whole  thirteen!  The  day,  or  rather  the  night, 
was  won;  for  Nature's  dark  flag  of  truce  hung  even 
between  the  assailants  and  the  few  desperate  defenders 
of  the  third  village,  who,  with  escape  cut  ofif,  were  selling 
their  lives  at  a  cost  to  the  attackers  of  seventeen  out 
of  that  total  death-roll  of  twenty-five.  But  Nicholson 
knew  his  position  sure,  so  he  left  night  to  finish  the  rout, 
and,  with  his  men,  bivouacked  without  food  or  cover 
among  the  marshes;  for  it  was  too  dark  to  get  the  bag- 
gage over  the  ford.  Yet  the  troops  were  ready  to  start 
at  daybreak  for  an  eighteen  miles  tramp  back  to  the 
Ridge  again.  There  was  no  talk  of  exhaustion  now,  as 
at  Budli-ke-serai;  so  just  thirty-six  hours  after  they 
started,  that  is,  just  one  hour  for  every  mile  of  morass 
and  none  for  the  fight,  they  startled  the  Ridge  by  march- 
ing in  again  and  clamoring  for  food!  But  Nicholson 
was  in  a  towering  temper.  He  had  found  that  another 
brigade  had  been  lurking  behind  the  canal,  and  that  if 
he  had  had  decent  information  he  might  have  smashed 
it  also,  on  his  way  home. 

"  He  hadn't  even  a  guide  that  he  didn't  pick  up  him- 
self," commented  Major  Erlton  angrily.  "  By  George! 
how  those  niggers  cave  in  to  him!  And  his  political 
information  was  all  rot.  If  the  General  had  obeyed 
instructions  he  would  have  been  kicking  his  heels  at 
Bahadagurh  still." 

"  We  heard  you  at  it  about  twcf  o'clock,"  said  a  new 
listener.  "  I  suppose  it  was  a  night  attack — risky  busi- 
ness rather." 

Herbert  Erlton  burst  into  a  laugh;  but  the  elation  on 
his  face  had  a  pathetic  tenderness  in  it.  "  That  was  the 
bridge,  I  expect.  He  blew  it  up  before  starting.  He  sat 
on  it  till  then.  Besses  there  were  the  wagons  and  tum- 
brils and  things.  He  told  Tombs  to  blow  them  up,  too, 
for  of  course  he  had  to  bring  the  guns  back,  and  he 
couldn't  shove  the  lot." 

As  he  passed  on  some  of  his  listeners  smiled. 

"  It's  a  case  of  possession,"  said  one  to  his  neighbor. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  another,  who  had  known  the 
Major  for  years.  "  It's  a  case  of  casting  out.  I  won- 
der  "     The     speaker     paused     and     shrugged     his 

shoulders. 


4IO  O.V    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

"  Did  yoii  hear  his  name  had  gone  up  for  the  V.  C?  " 
began  his  companion. 

"  Gone  up!  My  dear  fellow!  It  might  have  gone  up 
fifty  times  over.  But  it  isn't  his  pluck  that  I  wonder  at; 
it  is  his  steadiness.  He  never  shirks  the  little  things.  It 
is  almost  as  if  he  had  found  a  conscience." 

Perhaps  he  had.  He  was  cheerful  enough  to  have  had 
the  testimony  of  a  good  one,  as,  in  passing,  he  looked  in 
on  Jim  Douglas  and  met  his  congratulations. 

"  Bad  shilling!  "  replied  the  Major,  beautifully  uncon- 
scious. "So  you've  heard — and — hello!  what's  up?" 
For  Jim  Douglas  was  busy  getting  into  disguise. 

"  That  old  scoundrel  Tiddu  came  into  camp  with  the 
news  an  hour  ago,"  said  the  latter,  whose  face  was  by 
no  means  cheerful.  "  He  w^as  out  carrying  grain — saw 
the  fugitives,  and  came  in  here,  hoping  for  backsheesh, 
I  believe.  But  " — Jim  Douglas  looked  round  rapidly  at 
the  Major — "  I'm  awfully  afraid,  Erlton,  that  he  has  not 
been  in  Delhi,  to  speak  of,  since  I  left.  And  I  was  rely- 
ing on  him  for  news " 

"There  isn't  any — is  there?"  broke  in  Major  Erlton 
with  a  queer  hush  in  his  voice. 

"  None.  But  there  may  be.  So  I'm  off  at  once.  I 
couldn't  have  a  better  chance.  The  villain  says  the 
sepoys  are  slipping  in  on  the  sly  in  hundreds;  for  the 
Palace  folk,  or  at  least  the  King,  thinks  the  troops  are 
still  engaged,  and  is  sending  out  reinforcements.  So  I 
shall  have  no  trouble  in  getting  through  the  gates." 

Major  Erlton,  radiant,  splashed  from  head  to  foot,  cov- 
ered at  once  with  mud  and  glory,  looked  at  the  man 
opposite  him  with  a  curious  deliberation. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  go  at  all,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  I  wouldn't,  if  I — I  mean  I  would  rather  you  didn't." 

"Why?"     The  question  came  sharply. 

"  Do  you  want  the  truth? "  asked  Herbert  Erlton 
with  a  sudden  frown. 

"  Certainly." 

"  Then  I'll  tell  it,  Mr.  Greyman — I  mean  Douglas — 

I — I'm  grateful,  but — d n  me,  sir,  if — if  I  want  to  be 

more  so!  I — I  gave  you  my  chance  once — like  a  fool; 
for  I  might  have  saved  her " 


THE  BEGINNING   OF    THE  END.  4" 

The  hard  handsome  face  was  all  broken  up  with  pas- 
sionate regret,  and  the  pity  of  it  kept  Jim  Douglas  silent 
for  a  moment.     For  he  understood  it. 

"  You  might,"  he  said  at  last.  '*  But  I  don't  interfere 
with  yovi  here.  You  can't  save  her — your  wife,  I  mean — 
and  if  I  fail  you  can  always " 

"  There  is  no  need  to  tell  me  what  to  do  then,"  inter- 
rupted Major  Erlton  grimlv.  "  I'll  do  it  without  your 
help." 

He  turned  on  his  heel,  then  paused.  "  It  isn't  that 
I'm  ungrateful,"  he  repeated,  almost  with  an  appeal  in 
his  voice.  "And  I  don't  mean  to  be  ofTensive;  only 
you  and  I  can't " 

His  own  mental  position  seemed  beyond  him,  and  he 
stood  for  a  moment  irresolute.  Then  he  held  out  his 
hand. 

"  Well,  good-by.     I  suppose  you  mean  to  stick  to  it?  " 

"  I  mean  to  stick  to  it.     Good-by." 

"  And  I  must  be  off  to  my  bed.  Haven't  slept  a  wink 
for  two  nights,  and  I  shall  be  on  duty  to-morrow.  Well! 
I  believe  I've  as  good  a  chance  of  seeing  Kate  here  as 
you  have  of  finding  her  there;  but  I  can't  prevent  your 
going,  of  course." 

So  he  went  off  to  his  bed,  and  Jim  Douglas,  following 
Tiddu,  who  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  Koodsia  Gar- 
dens, carried  out  his  intention  of  sticking  to  it;  while 
John  Nicholson  in  his  tent,  forgetful  of  his  advice  to  both 
of  them,  was  jotting  down  notes  for  his  dispatch.  One 
of  them  was:  "The  enemy  was  driven  from  the  serai 
with  scarcely  any  loss  to  us,  and  made  little  resistance  as 
we  advanced."  The  other  was:  "Query?  How  many 
men  in  buckram?  Most  say  seven  or  eight  thousand. 
I  think  between  three  and  four." 

He  had,  indeed,  a  vile  habit  of  telling  the  truth,  even 
in  dispatches.     So  ended  the  day  of  Nujjufghar. 

The  next  morning,  the  27th,  broke  fine  and  clear. 
Kate  Erlton  waking  with  the  birds,  found  the  sky  full  of 
light  already,  clear  as  a  pale  topaz  beyond  the  over- 
arching trees. 

She  stood  after  leaving  her  thatch,  looking  into  the 
garden,  lost  in  a  sort  of  still  content.     It  seemed  impos- 


412  ON    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

sible  she  should  be  in  the  heart  of  a  big  city.  There  was 
no  sound  but  the  faint  rusthng  of  the  wet  leaves  drying 
themselves  in  the  soft  breeze,  and  the  twitterings  of 
squirrels  and  birds.  There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but 
the  trees,  and  the  broad  paths  rising  above  the  flooding 
water  from  the  canal-cut  which  ran  at  the  further  side. 

And  Sri  Anunda  had  lived  here  for  fifteen  years;  while 
she?  How  long  had  she  been  there?  She  smiled  to 
herself,  for,  in  truth,  she  had  lost  count  of  days  alto- 
gether, almost  of  Time  itself.  She  was  losing  hold  of 
life.  She  told  herself  this,  with  that  vague  amaze  at 
finding  it  so.  Yes!  she  w'as  losing  her  grip  on  this 
world  without  gaining,  without  even  desiring,  a  hold  on 
the  next.  She  was  learning  a  strange  new  fellowship 
with  the  dream  of  which  she  was  a  part,  because  it  would 
soon  be  past;  because  the  trees,  the  flowers,  the  birds, 
the  beasts,  were  mortal  as  herself.  A  squirrel,  its  tail 
a-flufif,  was  coming  down  the  trunk  of  the  next  tree  in 
fitful  half-defiant  jerks,  its  bright  eyes  watching  her. 
The  corner  of  her  veil  w^as  full  of  the  leavings  of  her 
simple  morning  meal,  which  she  always  took  with  her 
to  scatter  under  the  trees;  and  now,  in  sudden  impulse, 
she  sank  down  to  her  knees  and  held  a  morsel  of  plantain 
out  tenderly. 

Dear  little  mortal,  she  thought,  with  a  new  tenderness, 
watching  it  as  it  paused  uncertain;  until  the  conscious- 
ness that  she  was  being  watched  in  her  turn  made  her 
look  up;  then  pause,  as  she  was,  astonished,  yet  not 
alarmed,  at  the  figure  before  her.  It  was  neither  tall  n(jr 
short,  dark  nor  fair,  and  it  was  wrapped  from  knee  to 
shoulder  in  a  dazzling  white  cloth  draped  like  a  Greek 
chiton,  which  showed  the  thin  yet  not  emaciated  curves 
of  the  limbs,  and  left  the  poise  of  the  long  throat  bare. 
The  head  was  clean  shaven,  smooth  as  the  cheek,  and 
the  face,  destitute  even  of  eyebrows,  was  softly  seamed 
with  lines  and  wrinkles  which  seemed  to  leave  it  younger, 
and  brighter,  as  if  in  an  eternity  of  smile-provoking  con- 
tent. But  the  eyes!  Kate  felt  a  strange  shock,  as  they 
brought  back  to  her  the  innocent  dignity  Raphael  gave 
to  his  San-Sistine  Bambino.  For  this  was  Sri  Anunda; 
could  be  no  one  else.     In  his  hand  he  held  a  bunch  of 


THE  BEGINNIXG   OF   THE  END.  4^3 

henna-blossom,  the  camphire  of  Scripture,  the  cypress  of 
the  Greeks;  yellowish  green,  insignificant,  incomparably 
sweet.  He  held  it  out  to  her,  smiling,  then  laid  it  on  her 
outstretched  hand. 

"  The  lesson  is  learned,  sister,"  he  said  softly.  "  Go 
in  peace,  and  have  no  fear." 

The  voice,  musical  exceedingly,  thrilled  her  through 
and  through.  She  knelt  looking  after  him  regretfully 
as,  without  a  pause,  he  passed  on  his  way.  So  that  was 
a  Swami!  She  went  back  to  her  corner — for  already 
early  visitors  were  drifting  in  for  Sri  Anunda's  bless- 
ing— and  with  the  bunch  of  henna-blossom  on  the 
ground  before  her  sat  thinking. 

What  an  extraordinary  face  it  was !  So  young,  so  old. 
So  wise,  so  strangely  innocent.  Tara  Avas  right.  It 
was  not  a  man's  face.  Yet  it  could  not  be  called  angelic, 
for  it  was  the  face  of  a  mortal.  Yes!  that  was  it,  a  mor- 
tal face  immortal  through  its  mortality;  through  the 
circling  wheel  of  life  and  death.  The  strong  perfume  of 
the  flowers  reaching  her,  set  her  a-thinking  of  them. 
Did  he  always  give  a  bunch  when  the  penance  was  over 
and  say  the  lesson  was  learned?  It  was  a  significant 
choice,  these  flowers  of  life  and  death.  For  bridal  hands 
had  been  stained  with  henna,  and  corpses  embalmed 
with  it  for  ages,  and  ages,  and  ages.  Or  was  that  "  peace 
go  with  you,"  that  "  have  no  fear  "  meant  as  an  en- 
couragement in  something  new?  '  Had  they  been  making 
plans?  had  anything  happened?  She  scarcely  seemed 
to  care.  So,  as  the  cloudless  day  passed  on,  she  sat 
looking  at  the  henna-blossom  and  thinking  of  Sri 
Anunda's  face. 

But  something  had  happened.  Jim  Douglas  had  come 
back  to  the  city  and  Tara  knew  it.  She  had  barely 
escaped  his  seeing  her,  and  she  felt  she  could  not  escape 
it  long.  And  then,  it  seemed  to  her,  the  old  life  would 
begin  again ;  for  she  would  never  be  able  to  keep  the 
truth  from  him.  The  mem  might  talk  of  deceit  glibly; 
but  if  it  came  to  telling  lies  to  the  master  she  would  fail. 

There  was  only  one  chance.  If  she  could  get  the  mem 
safely  out  of  the  city  at  once;  then  she  could  tell  the 
truth  without  fear.     The  necessitv  for  immediate  action 


414  ON    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

came  upon  her  by  surprise.  She  had  ceased  to  expect 
the  master's  return,  she  had  not  cared  personally  for 
Kate's  safety,  and  so  had  been  content  to  let  the  future 
take  care  of  itself.  But  now  everything  was  changed. 
If  Kate  were  not  got  rid  of,  sent  out  of  the  city,  one  of 
two  things  must  happen:  The  master  must  be  left  to  get 
her  out  as  best  he  could,  at  the  risk  of  his  life;  or  she, 
Tara,  must  return  to  the  old  allegiance;  return  and  sit 
by,  while  the  mem  in  a  language  she  did  not  understand, 
told  the  Huzoor  how  she  had  been  willing  to  be  suttee 
for  him! 

So  while  Kate  sat  looking  at  the  henna-blossom,  Tara 
sat  telling  herself  that  at  all  costs,  all  risks,  she  must  be 
got  out  of  the  city  that  night.  She,  and  her  jewels. 
They  were  at  present  tied  up  in  a  bundle  in  Tara's  room, 
but  the  Huzoor  might  think  her  a  thief  if  the  mem 
went  without  them.  And  another  thing  she  decided. 
She  would  not  tell  the  mem  the  reason  of  this  sudden 
action.  True,  Kate  had  professed  herself  determined 
that  the  master  should  not  risk  his  life  for  her  again; 
but  women  were  not — not  always — to  be  trusted.  For 
the  rest,  Soma  must  help. 

She  waited  till  dusk,  however,  before  appealing  to 
him,  knowing  that  her  only  chance  lay  in  taking  him  by 
storm,  in  leaving  him  no  time  for  reflection.  So,  just  as 
the  lights  were  beginning  to  twinkle  in  the  bazaars,  she 
made  her  way,  full  of  purpose,  to  the  half  ruined  sort  cf 
cell  in  the  thickness  of  the  wall  not  far  from  the  sally- 
port, in  which  of  late — since  he  had  taken  morosely  to 
drugs — he  was  generally  to  be  found  at  this  time,  wak- 
ing drowsily  to  his  evening  meal  before  going  out. 

She  found  him  thu.'',  sure  enough,  and  began  at  once 
on  her  task.  He  mu  it  help.  He  could  easily  pass  out 
the  mem.  That  was  all  she  asked  of  him.  But  his 
handsome  face  settled  into  sheer  obstinacy  at  once.  He 
was  not  going  to  help  anyone,  he  said,  or  harm  anyone, 
till  they  struck  the  first  blow,  and  then  they  had  better 
defend  themselves.  That  was  the  end.  And  so  it 
seemed;  for  after  ten  minutes  of  entreaty,  he  stood  up 
with  something  of  a  lurch  ere  he  found  his  feet,  and  bid 


THE  BEGINNING   OF   I  HE  END.  4^5 

her  go.  She  only  wasted  her  time  and  his,  since  he  must 
eat  his  food  ere  he  went  to  reheve  the  sentry  at  the  sally- 
port. 

She  caught  him  up  reproachfully,  almost  indignantly. 

"  Then  thou  art  there,  on  guard!  and  it  needs  but  the 
opening  of  a  door,  a  thrusting  of  a  woman  out — to — die, 
perchance,  Soma.     Remember  that!" 

She  spoke  with  a  feverish  eagerness,  as  if  the  sugges- 
tion had  its  weight  with  her,  but  he  treated  it  contemp- 
tuously. 

"  Loh!  "  he  said  in  scorn.  "  What  a  woman's  word! 
Thank  the  Gods  I  was  not  born  one." 

The  taunt  bit  deep,  and  Tara  drew  herself  up  angrily. 
So  the  brother  and  sister  stood  face  to  face,  strangely 
alike. 

"  \\'as't  not?  "  she  retorted  bitterly.  "  The  Gods  know. 
Is  there  not  woman  in  man,  and  man  in  woman,  among 
those  born  at  a  birth?     Soma!  for  the  sake  of  that — do 

this  for  me "     It  was  her  last  appeal;  she  had  kept 

it  for  the  last,  and  now  her  somber  eyes  w^ere  ablaze  with 
passionate  entreaty.  "  See,  brother!  I  claim  it  of  you 
as  a  right.  Thou  didst  take  my  sainthood  from  me  once. 
Count  this  as  giving  it  back  again." 

"  Back  again?"  echoed  Soma  thickly.  "What  fool's 
talk  is  this?  " 

"  Let  it  be  fool's  talk,  brother,"  she  interrupted,  with 
a  strange  intensity  in  her  voice.  '•  I  care  not — thou  dost 
not  know;  I  cannot  tell  thee.  But — but  this  will  be 
counted  to  thee  in  restitution.  Soma!  think  of  it  as  my 
sainthood!  Sure  thou  dost  owe  me  it!  Soma!  for  the 
sake  of  the  hand  which  lay  in  thine." 

In  her  excitement  she  moved  a  step  forward,  and  he 
shrank  back  instinctively.  True,  she  was  a  saint  in  an- 
othef  way  if  those  scars  were  true ;  but — at  the  moment, 
being  angry  with  her,  he  chose  to  doubt,  to  remember. 
''Stand  back!"  he  cried  roughly,  unsteadily.  "What 
do  I  owe  thee?     What  claim  hast  thou?  " 

The  question,  the  gesture  outraged  her  utterly.  The 
memory  of  a  whole  life  of  vain  struggling  after  self- 
respect  surged  to  her  brain,  bringing  that  almost  insane 


4i6  aV    THE   FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

light  to  her  eyes.  "  What? "  she  echoed  fiercely — 
"  this!  "  Ere  he  could  prevent  it,  her  hand  was  in  his, 
gripping  it  like  a  vice. 

"  So  in  the  beginning — so  in  the  end!  "  she  gasped,  as 
he  struggled  with  her  madly.  "  Tara  and  Soma  hand  in 
hand.     Nay!  I  am  strong  as  thou." 

She  spoke  truth,  for  his  nerve  and  muscle  were  slack 
with  opium;  yet  he  fought  wildly,  striking  at  her  with 
his  left  hand,  until  in  a  supreme  effort  she  lost  her  foot- 
ing, they  both  staggered,  and  he — as  she  loosed  her 
hold — fell  backward,  striking  his  head  against  a  project- 
ing brick  in  the  ruined  wall. 

"  Soma!  "  she  whispered  to  his  prostrate  figure,  "art 
hurt,  brother?     Speak  to  me!  " 

But  he  lay  still,  and,  with  a  cry,  she  flung  herself  on 
her  knees  beside  him,  feeling  his  heart,  listening  to  his 
breathing,  searching  for  the  injury.  It  was  a  big  cut  on 
the  crown  of  the  head;  but  it  did  not  seem  a  bad  one, 
and  she  began  to  take  his  unconsciousness  more  calmly. 
She  had  seen  folk  like  that  before  from  a  sudden  fall,  and 
they  came  to  themselves,  none  the  worse,  after  a  while. 
But  scarcely,  here,  in  time  to  relieve  guard. 

She  stood  up  suddenly  and  looked  round  her.  Soma's 
uniform  hung  on  a  peg,  his  musket  stood  in  a  corner. 

Half  an  hour  after  this,  Kate,  waiting  in  the  thatch 
for  Tara  to  come  as  usual,  gave  a  cry,  more  of  surprise 
than  alarm,  as  a  tall  figure,  in  uniform,  stepped  into  the 
flickering  light  of  the  cresset. 

"  Soma!  "  she  cried,  "  wdiat  is  it?  " 

A  gratified  smile  came  to  the  curled  mustachios. 
"  Soma  or  Tara,  it  matters  not,"  replied  a  familiar  voice. 
"  They  were  one  in  the  beginning.  Quick,  mem-sahib. 
On  with  the  jewels.     I  have  a  dark  veil  too  for  the  gate." 

Kate  stood  up,  her  heart  throbbing.  "  Am  I  to  go, 
then?     Is  that  what  Sri  Anunda  meant?  " 

"Sri  Anunda!  hath  he  been  here?"  Tara  paused, 
sniffed,  and  once  more  those  dark  eyes  met  the  light 
ones  with  a  fierce  jealousy.  "He  hath  given  thee  henna- 
blossom.     I  smell  it;  and  he  gives  it  to  none  but  those 

who So  the   Swami's   lesson   is  learned — and  the 

disciple  can   go   in  peace "     She   broke   off  with   a 


THE  BEGINNING   OF    THE  END.  41? 

petulant  laugh.  "Well!  so  be  it.  It  ends  my  part. 
The  mem  will  sleep  among  her  own  to-night;  Sri 
Anunda  hath  said  it.     Come " 

"  But  how?     I  must  know  how,"  protested  Kate. 

The  laugh  rose  again.  '*  Wherefore?  The  mem  is 
Sri  Anunda's  disciple.  For  the  rest,  I  will  let  the  mem 
out  through  the  little  river-gate.  There  is  a  boat,  and 
she  can  go  in  peace." 

There  was  something  so  wild,  so  almost  menacing  in 
Tara's  face,  that  Kate  felt  her  only  hope  was  to  obey. 
And,  in  good  sooth,  the  scent  of  the  henna-blossom  she 
carried  with  her,  tucked  into  her  bosom,  gave  her,  some- 
how, an  irrational  hope  that  all  would  go  well  as  she 
followed  her  guide  swiftly  through  the  alleys  and 
bazaars. 

"  The  mem  must  wait  here,"  whispered  Tara  at  last, 
pausing  behind  one  of  the  ungainly  mausoleums  in  what 
had  been  the  old  Christian  cemetery.  "  When  she  hears 
me  singing  Sonny-baba's  song,  she  must  follow  to  the 
Water-gate.     It  is  behind  the  ruins,  there." 

Kate  crouched  down,  setting  her  back,  native  fashion, 
against  the  tomb.  And  as  she  waited  she  wondered  idly 
what  mortal  lay  there;  so,  being  strangely  calm,  she  let 
her  fingers  stray  to  the  recess  she  felt  behind  her.  There 
should  be  a  marble  tablet  there;  and  even  in  the  dark 
she  might  trace  the  lettering.  But  the  recess  was  empty, 
the  marble  having  evidently  been  picked  out.  So  it  was 
a  nameless  grave.  And  the  next?  She  moved  over  to 
it  stealthily,  then  to  the  next.  But  the  tablets  had  been 
taken  out  of  all  and  carried  off — for  curry-stones  most 
likely.  So  the  graves  were  nameless;  those  beneath 
them  mortals — nothing  more.  As  she  waited  under  the 
stars,  her  mind  reverted  to  Sri  Anunda  and  the  Wheel  of 
Life  and  Death.  The  immortality  of  mortality!  Was 
that  the  lesson  which  was  to  let  her  go  in  peace? 

She  started  from  the  thought  as  that  native  version  of 
the  "  Happy  Land  "  came,  nasally,  from  behind  the  ruins. 
As  she  passed  them,  a  group  of  men  were  squatted  gos- 
siping round  a  hookah,  and  more  than  one  figure  passed 
her.  But  a  woman  with  her  veil  drawn,  and  a  clank  of 
anklets  on  her  feet,  did  not  even  invite  a  curious  eye; 


4i8  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

for  it  was  still  early  enough  for  such  folk  to  be  going 
home. 

Then,  as  she  passed  down  a  flight  of  steps,  a  hand  stole 
out  from  a  niche  and  drew  her  back  into  a  dark  shadow. 
The  next  minute,  with  a  low  whisper,  "  There  is  no  fear! 
vSri  Anunda  hath  said  it.  Go  in  peace!  "  she  felt  herself 
thrust  through  a  door  into  darkness.  But  a  feeble 
glimmer  showed  below  her,  and  creeping  down  another 
flight  of  steps,  she  found  herself  outside  Delhi,  looking 
over  the  strip  of  low-lying  land  where  in  the  winter  the 
buffaloes  had  grazed  beneath  Alice  Gissing's  house,  but 
which  was  now  flooded  into  a  still  backwater  by  the  ris- 
ing of  the  river.  And  out  of  it  the  stunted  kikar  and 
tamarisks  grew  strangely,  their  feathery  branches  arch- 
ing over  it.  But  to  the  left,  beyond  the  Water  Bastion, 
rose  a  mass  of  darker  foliage — the  Koodsia  Gardens. 
Once  there  she  would  be  beyond  floods,  and  Tara  had 
said  there  was  a  boat.  Kate  found  it,  moored  a  little 
further  toward  the  river — a  flat-bottomed  punt,  with  a 
pole.  It  proved  easier  to  manage  than  she  had  ex- 
pected; for  the  water  was  shallow,  and  the  trunks  and 
branches  of  the  trees  helped  her  to  get  along,  so  that 
after  a  time  she  decided  on  keeping  to  that  method  of 
progress  as  long  as  she  could.  It  enabled  her  to  skirt 
the  river  bank,  where  there  were  fewer  lights  telling  of 
watch-fires.  Besides,  she  knew  the  path  by  the  river 
leading  to  Metcalfe  House.  It  might  be  under  water 
now;  but  if  she  crept  into  the  park  at  the  ravine — if  she 
could  take  the  boat  so  far — she  might  manage  to  reach 
Metcalfe  House.  There  was  an  English  picket  there, 
she  knew.  So,  as  she  mapped  out  her  best  way,  a  sud- 
den recollection  came  to  her  of  the  last  time  she  had  seen 
that  river  path,  when  her  husband  and  Alice  Gissing 
were  walking  down  it,  and  Captain  Morecombe 

Ah!  was  it  credible?  Was  it  not  all  a  dream?  Could 
this  be  real — could  it  be  the  same  world? 

She  asked  herself  the  question  with  a  dull  indifference 
as  she  struggled  on  doggedly. 

But  not  more  than  two  hours  afterward  the  conviction 
that  the  world  had  not  changed  came  upon  her  with  a 
strange  pang  as  she  stood  once  more  on  the  terrace  of 
Metcalfe  House  with  Eng-Hsh  faces  around  her. 


AT  LAST.  419 

"  By  Heaven,  it's  Mrs.  Erlton!  "  she  heard  a  famiUar 
voice  say.  It  seemed  to  her  hundreds  of  miles  away  in 
some  far,  far  country  to  which  she  had  been  journeying 
for  years.  "Here!  let  me  get  hold  of  her — and  fetch 
some  water — wine — anything.  How — how  was  it.  Ser- 
geant? " 

"  In  a  boat,  sir,  coming  hand  over  hand  down  at  the 
stables.  She  sang  out  quite  calmly  she  was  an  English- 
woman, and " 

"  Then — then  they  touched  their  caps  to  me,"  said 
Kate,  making  an  efrort,  "  and  so  I  knew  that  I  was  safe. 
It  was  so  strange;  it — it  rather  upset  me.  But  I  am  all 
right  now.  Captain  Morecombe." 

"  We  had  better  send  up  for  Erlton,"  said  another 
officer  aside;  but  Kate  caught  the  whisper. 

"  Please  not.  I  can  walk  up  to  cantonments  quite 
w^ell.  And — I  would  rather  have  no  fuss — I — I  couldn't 
stand  it." 

She  had  stood  enough  and  to  spare,  agreed  the  little 
knot  of  men  with  a  thrill  at  their  hearts  as  they  w^atched 
her  set  off  in  the  moonlight  with  Captain  Morecombe 
and  an  orderly.  They  w'ere  to  go  straight  to  the  Major's 
tent;  and  if  he  was  still  at  mess,  which  was  more  than 
likely,  since  it  was  only  half-past  nine.  Captain  More- 
combe was  to  leave  her  there  and  go  on  with  the  news. 
There  would  be  no  fuss,  of  that  she  might  be  sure,  said 
the  latter,  forbearing  even  to  speak  to  her  on  the  way, 
save  to  ask  her  if  she  felt  all  right. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  had  just  been  born,"  she  said  slowly. 
In  truth,  she  was  wondering  if  that  spinning  of  the  Great 
Wheel  toward  Life  again  brought  with  it  this  forlorn- 
ness,  this  familiarity. 

CHAPTER   IV. 

AT    LAST. 

No  fuss  indeed!  Kate,  as  she  sat  in  her  husband's 
little  tent  waiting  for  him  to  come  to  her,  felt  that  so  far 
she  might  have  arrived  from  a  very  ordinary  journey. 
The  bearer,  it  is  true,  who  had  been  the  ^Major's  valet  for 


420  ON    THE  FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

years,  had  salaame-d  more  profoundly  than  usual,  had 
even  put  up  a  pious  prayer,  and  expressed  himself 
pleased;  but  he  had  immediately  gone  ofif  to  fetch  hot 
water,  and  returning  with  it  and  clean  towels,  had  sug- 
gested mildly  that  the  mem  might  like  to  wash  her  face 
and  hands.  Kate,  with  a  faint  smile,  felt  there  was  no 
reason  why  she  should  not.  She  need  not  look  worse 
than  necessary.  But  she  paused  almost  with  a  gasp  at 
the  familiar  half-forgotten  luxuries.  Scented  soap!  a 
sponge — and  there  on  the  camp  table  a  looking-glass! 
She  glanced  down  with  a  start  at  the  little  round  one  in 
the  ring  she  wore ;  then  went  over  to  the  other.  A  toilet 
cover,  brushes,  and  combs,  her  husband's  razors,  gold 
studs  in  a  box;  and  there,  her  own  photograph  in  a 
frame,  a  Bible,  and  a  prayer  book,  the  latter  things 
bringing  her  no  surprise,  no  emotion  of  any  kind.  For 
they  had  always  been  fixtures  on  Major  Erlton's  dress- 
ing-table, mute  evidences  to  no  sentiment  on  his  part,  but 
simply  to  the  bearer's  knowledge  of  the  proprieties  and 
the  ways  of  real  sahibs.  But  the  other  things  she  saw 
made  her  heart  grow  soft.  The  little  camp  bed,  the  sim- 
plicity and  hardness  of  all  in  comparison  with  what  her 
husband  had  been  wont  to  demand  of  life;  for  he  had 
always  been  a  real  prince,  feeling  the  rose-leaf  beneath 
the  feather  bed,  and  never  stinting  himself  in  comfort. 
Then  the  swords,  and  belts,  and  Heaven  knows  what 
panoply  of  war — not  spick-and-span  decorations  as  they 
used  to  be  in  the  old  days,  but  worn  and  vised — gave  her 
a  pang.  Well!  he  had  always  been  a  good  soldier,  they 
said. 

And  then,  interrupting  her  thoughts,  the  old  khansa- 
man  had  come  in,  having  taken  time  to  array  himself 
gorgeously  in  livery.  The  Father  of  the  fatherless  and 
orphan,  he  said,  whimperingly,  alluding  to  the  fact  that 
he  had  lost  both  parents — which,  considering  he  was 
past  sixty,  was  only  to  be  expected — had  heard  his 
prayer.  The  mem  was  spared  to  Freddy-baba.  And 
would  she  please  to  order  dinner.  As  the  Alajor-sahib 
dined  at  mess,  her  slave  was  unprepared  with  a  roast. 
Fish  also  would  partake  of  tyranny;  but  he  could  open 


AT  LAST.  421 

a  tin  of  Europe  soup,  and  with  a  chicken  cutlet — Kate 
cut  him  short  with  a  request  for  tea;  by  and  by,  when — 
when  the  Major-sahib  should  have  come.  And  when 
she  was  alone  again,  she  shivered  and  rested  her  head  on 
her  crossed  arms  upon  the  table  beside  which  she  sat, 
with  a  sort  of  sob.  This — Yes! — this  of  all  she  had 
come  through  was  the  hardest  to  bear.  This  surge  of 
pity,  of  tenderness,  of  unavailing  regret  for  the  past,  the 
present,  the  future.  What? — What  could  she  say  to 
him,  or  he  to  her,  that  would  make  remembrance  easier, 
anticipation  happier? 

Hark!  there  was  his  step!  His  voice  saying  good- 
night to  Captain  Morecombe. 

"  I  hope  she  will  be  none  the  worse,"  came  the  reply. 
"  Good-night,  Erlton — I'm — I'm  awfully  glad,  old 
fellow." 

"Thanks!" 

She  stood  up  with  a  sickening  throb  at  her  heart.  Oh ! 
she  was  glad  too!  So  glad  to  see  him  and  tell  him 
to 

How  tall  he  was,  she  thought,  with  a  swift  recognition 
of  his  good  looks,  as  he  came  in,  stooping  to  pass  under 
the  low  entrance.  Very  tall,  and  thin.  Much  thinner, 
and — and — different  somehow. 

"Kate!"  He  paused  half  a  second,  looking  at  her 
curiously — "  Kate!  I'm — I'm  awfully  glad."  He  was 
beside  her  now,  his  big  hands  holding  hers;  but  she  felt 
that  she  was  further  away  from  him  than  she  had  been  in 
that  brief  pause  when  she  had  half-expected,  half-wished 
him  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  kiss  her  as  if  nothing 
had  happened,  as  if  life  were  to  begin  again.  It  would 
have  been  so  much  easier;  they  might  have  forgotten 
then,  both  of  them.  But  now,  what  came,  must  come 
without  that  chrism  of  impulse;  must  come  in  remem- 
brance and  regret.  Azu fully  glad!  That  was  what  Cap- 
tain Morecombe  had  said.  Was  there  no  more  between 
them  than  that?  No  more  between  her  and  this  man, 
who  was  the  father  of  her  child.  The  sting  of  the 
thought  made  her  draw  him  closer,  and  with  a  sob  rest 
her    head    on    his    shoulder.     Then    he    stooped    and 


422  C>,V    THE  FACE   OF    7^ HE    WATERS. 

kissed  her.  "  I — I  didn't  know.  I  wasn't  sure  if  you'd 
like  it,"  he  said,  "  but  I'm  awfully  glad,  old  girl,  upon 
my  life  I  am.     You  must  have  had  a  terrible  time." 

She  looked  up  with  a  hopeless  pain  in  her  eyes.  He 
was  gone  from  her  again;  gone  utterly.  "  It  was  not  so 
bad  as  you  might  think,"  she  answered,  trying  to  smile. 
"  Mr.  Greyman  did  so  much " 

"  Greyman!     You  mean  Douglas,  I  suppose?" 

She  stared  for  a  second.     "  Douglas?     I  don't  know. 

I  mean "     Then  she  paused.     How  could  she  say, 

"  The  man  you  rode  against  at  Lucknow,"  when  she 
wanted  to  forget  all  that;  forget  everything?  And  then 
a  sudden  fear  made  her  add  hastily,  "  He  is  here,  surely — 
he  came  long  ago." 

Major  Erlton  nodded.  "  I  know;  but  his  real  name 
is  Douglas;  at  least  he  says  so.  Do  you  mean  to  say 
you  haven't  seen  him?  That  he  didn't  help  vou  to  get 
out?" 

"You  mean  that — that  he  has  gone  back?"  asked 
Kate  faintly. 

Her  husband  gave  a  low  whistle.  "  What  a  queer 
start;  a  sort  of  Box  and  Cox.  He  went  back  to  find 
you  yesterday." 

Kate's  hand  went  up  to  her  forehead  almost  wildly. 
Then  Tara  must  have  known.  But  why  had  she  not 
mentioned  it?  Still,  in  a  way,  it  was  best  as  it  was;  since 
once  he  heard  she,  Kate,  had  gone,  he  would  return. 
For  Tara  would  tell  him,  of  course. 

These  thoughts  claimed  her  for  the  moment,  and  when 
she  looked  up,  she  found  her  husband  watching  her 
curiously. 

"  He  must  have  done  an  awful  lot  for  you,  of  course," 
he  said  shortly;  "  but  I'd  rather  it  had  been  anyone  else, 
and  that's  a  fact.  However,  it  can't  be  helped.  Hullo! 
here's  the  khansaman  with  some  tea.  Thoughtful  of  the 
old  scoundrel,  isn't  it?" 

"  I — I  ordered  it,"  put  in  Kate,  feeling  glad  of  the 
diversion. 

Major  Erlton  laughed  kindly.  "  What,  begun  already? 
The  old  sinner's  had  a  precious  easy  time  of  it;  but 
now "     He  pulled  himself  up  awkwardly,  and,  as  if 


AT  LAST.  423 

to  cover  his  hesitation,  walked  over  to  a  box,  and  after 
rummaging  in  it,  brought  out  a  packet  of  letters. 
"  Freddy's,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "  He's  all  right.  Jolly 
as  a  sandboy.     I  kept  them — in — in  case " 

A  great  gratitude  made  the  past  dim  for  a  moment. 
He  seemed  nearer  to  her  again.  "  I  can't  look  at  them 
to-night,  Herbert,"  she  said  softly,  laying  her  hand  be- 
side his  upon  them.     "  I'm — I'm  too  tired." 

"  No  wonder.  You  must  have  your  tea  and  go  to 
bed,"  he  replied.  Then  he  looked  round  the  tent.  "  It 
isn't  a  bad  little  place,  you'll  find — I'm  on  duty  to- 
night— so — so  you'll  manage,  I  dare  say." 

"  On  duty?  "  she  echoed,  pouring  herself  out  a  cup  of 
tea  rather  hastily.     "  Where?  " 

"  Oh!  at  the  front.  There  is  never  anything  worth 
going  for  now.  We  are  both  waiting  for  the  assault; 
that's  the  fact.     But  I  shan't  be  back  till  dawn,  so " 

He  was  standing  looking  at  her,  tall,  handsome,  full  of 
vitality;  and  suddenly  he  lifted  a  fold  of  her  tinsel-set 
veil  and  smiled. 

"  Jolly  dress  that  for  a  fancy  ball,  and  what  a  jolly 
scent  it's  got.  It  is  that  flower,  isn't  it?  You  look 
awfully  well  in  it,  Kate!  In  fact,  you  look  wonderfully 
fit  all  round." 

"  So  do  you!  "  she  said  hurriedly,  her  hand  going  up 
to  the  henna  blossom.  There  was  a  sudden  quiver  in  her 
voice,  a  sudden  fierce  pain  in  her  heart.  "  You — you 
look " 

'■  Oh!  I,"  he  replied  carelessly,  still  with  admiring 
eyes,  "  I'm  as  fit  as  a  fiddle.  I  say!  where  did  you  get 
all  those  jewels?  What  a  lot  you  have!  They're  awfully 
becoming." 

"  They  are  Mr.  Greyman's,"  she  said;  "  they  belonged 
to  his — to "  then  she  paused.  But  the  contemptu- 
ously comprehending  smile  on  her  husband's  face  made 
her  add  quietly,  "  to  a  woman — a  woman  he  loved  very 
dearly,  Herbert." 

There  was  a  moment  or  two  of  silence,  and  then  Major 
Erlton  went  to  the  entrance,  raised  the  curtain,  and 
looked  out.  A  flood  of  moonlight  streamed  into  the 
tent. 


42  4  OiV    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

"  It's  about  time  I  was  off,"  he  said  after  a  bit,  and 
there  was  a  queer  constraint  in  his  voice.  Then  he  came 
over  and  stood  by  Kate  again. 

"  It  isn't  any  use  talking  over — over  things  to-night, 
Kate,"  he  said  quietly.  "  There's  a  lot  to  think  of  and  I 
haven't  thought  of  it  at  all.  I  never  knew,  you  see — if 
this  would  happen.  But  I  dare  say  you  have;  you  were 
always  a  oner  at  thinking.  So — so  you  had  better  do  it 
for  both  of  us.  I  don't  care,  ;wz*.'.  It  will  be  what  you 
wish,  of  course." 

"  We  will  talk  it  over  to-morrow,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice.  She  would  not  look  in  his  face.  She  knew  she 
would  find  it  soft  with  the  memory  held  in  that  one  word 
— now.  Ah!  how  much  easier  it  would  have  been  if 
she  had  never  come  back !  And  yet  she  shrank  from  the 
same  thought  on  his  lips. 

"  There  was  always  the  chance  of  my  getting  potted," 
he  said  almost  apologetically.  "  But  I'm  not.  So — 
well!  let's  leave  it  for  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  steadily,  "  for  to-morrow." 

He  gathered  some  of  his  things  together,  and  then 
held  out  his  hand.  "  Good-night,  Kate.  I  wouldn't  lie 
awake  thinking,  if  I  were  you.  What's  the  good  if  it? 
We  will  just  have  to  make  the  best  of  it  for  the  boy.  But 
I'd  like  you  to  know  two  things " 

"  Yes " 

"  That  I  couldn't  forget,  of  course;  and  that "  he 

paused.  "  Well!  that  doesn't  matter;  it's  only  about  my- 
self and  it  doesn't  mean  much  after  all.     So,  good-night." 

As  she  moved  to  the  door  also,  forced  into  following 
him  by  the  ache  in  her  heart  for  him,  more  than  for  her- 
self, the  jingle  of  her  anklets  made  him  turn  with  an  easy 
laugh. 

"  It  doesn't  sound  respectable,"  he  said;  then,  with  a 
sudden  compunction,  added:  "  But  the  dress  is  much 
prettier  than  those  dancing  girls',  and — by  Heaven, 
Kate!  you've  always  been  miles  too  good  for  me;  and 
that's  the  fact.     Well! — let  us  leave  it  for  to-morrow." 

Yes !  for  to-morrow,  she  told  herself,  with  a  determina- 
tion not  to  think  as,  dressed  as  she  was,  she  nestled  down 
into  the  strange  softness  of  the  camp  bed,  too  weary  of 


AT  LAST.  425 

the  pain  and  pity  of  this  coming  back  even  for  tears.  Yet 
she  thought  of  one  thing;  not  that  she  was  safe,  not  that 
she  would  see  the  boy  again.  Only  of  the  thing  he  had 
been  going  to  tell  her  about  himself.  What  was  it?  She 
wanted  to  know;  she  wanted  to  know  all — everything. 
*'  Herbert!  "  she  w'hispered  to  the  pillow,  "  I  wish  you 
had  told  me — I  want  to  know — I  want  to  make  it  easier — 
for — for  us  all." 

And  so,  not  even  grateful  for  her  escape,  she  fell  asleep 
dreamlessly. 

It  was  dawn  when  she  woke  with  the  sound  of  some- 
one talking  outside.  He  had  come  back.  Xo!  that  was 
not  his  voice.     She  sat  up  listening. 

"  The  servants  say  she  is  asleep.  Someone  had  better 
go  in  and  wake  her.     The  Doctor " 

"He's  behind  with  the  dhooli.  Ah!  there's  r\Iore- 
combe;  he  knows  her." 

But  there  was  no  need  to  call  her.  Kate  was  already 
at  the  door,  her  eyes  wide  with  the  certainty  of  evil. 
There  was  no  need  even  to  tell  her  what  had  happened; 
for  in  the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun,  seen  almost  star- 
like behind  a  dip  in  the  rocky  ridge,  she  saw  a  little  pro- 
cession making  for  the  tent. 

"  He — he  is  dead,"  she  said  quietly.  There  was  hardly 
a  question  in  her  tone.  She  knew  it  must  be  so.  Had 
he  not  begged  her  to  leave  it  till  tOTmorrow?  and  this  was 
to-morrow.  Were  not  her  eyes  full  of  its  rising  sun, 
and  what  its  beams  held  in  their  bright  clasp? 

"  It  seems  impossible,"  said  someone  in  a  low  voice, 
breaking  in  on  the  pitiful  silence.  "  He  always  seemed 
to  have  a  charmed  life,  and  then,  in  an  instant,  when 
nothing  was  going  on,  the  chance  bullet." 

It  did  not  seem  impossible  to  her. 

"  Please  don't  make  a  fuss  about  me.  Doctor,"  she 
pleaded  in  a  tone  v^-hich  went  to  his  heart  when  he  pro- 
posed the  conventional  solaces.  "  Remember  I  have 
been  through  so — so  much  already.  I  can  bear  it.  I 
can,  indeed,  if  I'm  left  alone  with  him — while  it  is  possi- 
ble. Yes!  I  know  there  is  another  lady,  but  I  only  want 
to  be  alone,  with  him." 

So  they  left  her  there  beside  the  little  camp-bed  with 


426  ON    THE   FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

its  new  burden.  There  was  no  sign  of  strife  upon  him. 
Only  that  blue  mark  behind  his  ear  among  his  hair, 
and  his  face  showed  no  pain.  Kate  covered  it  with  a 
little  fine  handkerchief  she  found  folded  away  in  a  scented 
case  she  had  made  for  him  before  they  were  married.  It 
had  Alice  Gissing's  monogram  on  it.  It  was  better  so, 
she  told  herself;  he  would  have  liked  it.  She  had  no 
flowers  except  the  faded  henna  blossom,  but  it  smelled 
sweet  as  she  tucked  it  under  the  hand  which  she  had 
left  half  clasped  upon  his  sword.  She  might  at  least  tell 
him  so,  she  thought  half  bitterly,  that  the  lesson  was 
learned,  that  he  might  go  in  peace. 

Then  she  sat  down  at  the  table  and  looked  over  their 
boy's  letters  mechanically;  for  there  was  nothing  to  think 
of  now.  The  morrow  had  settled  the  problem.  Cap- 
tain Morecombe  came  in  once  or  twice  to  say  a  word  or 
two,  or  bring  in  other  men,  who  saluted  briefly  to  her  as 
they  passed  to  stand  beside  the  dead  man  for  a  second, 
and  then  go  out  again.  She  was  glad  they  cared  to 
come;  had  begged  that  any  might  come  who  chose,  as  if 
she  were  not  there.  But  at  one  visitor  she  looked  curi- 
ously, for  he  came  in  alone.  A  tall  man — as  tall  as 
Herbert,  she  thought — with  a  dark  beard  and  keen, 
kindly  eyes.  She  saw  them,  for  he  turned  to  her  with  the 
air  of  one  who  has  a  right  to  speak,  and  she  stood  up 
involuntarily. 

"  His  name  was  up  for  the  Victoria  Cross,  madam," 
said  a  clear,  resonant  voice,  "  as  you  may  know;  but  that 
is  nothing.  He  was  a  fine  soldier — a  soldier  such  as  I — 
I  am  John  Nicholson,  madam — can  ill  spare.  For  the 
rest — he  leaves  a  good  name  to  his  son." 

The  sunlight  streamed  in  for  an  instant  on  to  the 
little  bed  and  its  burden  as  he  passed  out,  and  glittered 
on  the  sword  and  tassels.  Kate  knelt  down  beside  it  and 
kissed  the  dead  hand. 

"  That  was  what  you  meant,  wasn't  it,  Herbert?  "  she 
whispered.     "  I  wish  you  had  told  it  me  yourself,  dear." 

She  wished  it  often.  Thinking  over  it  all  in  the  long 
days  that  followed,  it  came  to  be  almost  her  only  regret. 
If  he  had  told  her,  if  he  had  heard  her  say  how  glad  she 
was,  she  felt  that  she  would  have  asked  no  more.     And 


AT  LAST.  427 

SO,  as  she  went  down  every  evening  to  lay  the  white  rose- 
buds the  gardener  brought  her  on  his  grave  she  used  to 
repeat,  as  if  he  could  hear  them,  his  own  words:  "  It  is 
the  finish  that  is  the  win  or  the  lose  of  a  race." 

That  was  what  many  a  man  was  saying  to  himself  upon 
the  Ridge  in  the  first  week  of  September.  For  the  siege 
train  had  come  at  last.  The  winning  post  lay  close 
ahead,  they  must  ride  all  they  knew.  But  those  in  com- 
mand said  it  anxiously;  for  day  by  day  the  hospitals  be- 
came more  crowded,  and  cholera,  reappearing,  helped 
to  swell  the  rear-guard  of  graves,  when  the  time  had 
come  for  vanguards  only. 

But  some  men — among  them  Baird  Smith  and  John 
Nicholson — took  no  heed  of  sickness  or  death.  And 
these  two,  especially,  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  and 
said,  "  When  you  are  ready  I'm  ready."  Their  seniors 
might  say  that  an  assault  would  be  thrown  on  the  hazard 
of  a  die.  What  of  that;  if  men  are  prepared  to  throw 
sixes,  as  these  two  were?  They  had  to  be  thrown,  if 
India  w-as  to  be  kept,  if  this  bubble  of  sovereignty  was  to 
be  pricked,  the  gas  let  out. 

In  the  city  and  the  Palace  also,  men,  feeling  the  strug- 
gle close,  put  hand  and  foot  to  whip  and  spur.  But  there 
was  no  one  within  the  walls  who  had  the  seeing  single 
eye,  quick  to  seize  the  salient  point  of  a  position.  Baird 
Smith  saw  it  fast  enough.  Saw  the  thickets  and  walls  of 
the  Koodsia  Gardens  in  front  of  him,  the  river  guarding 
his  left,  a  sinuous  ravine — cleaving  the  hillside  into  cover 
creeping  down  from  the  Ridge  on  his  right  to  within  two 
hundred  yards  of  the  city  wall.  And  that  bit  of  the  wall, 
between  the  Moree  gate  and  the  Water  Bastion,  was  its 
weakest  portion.  The  curtain  walls  long,  mere  parapets, 
only  wide  enough  for  defense  by  muskets.  So  said  the 
spies,  though  it  seemed  almost  incredible  to  English 
engineers  that  the  defense  had  not  been  strengthened  by 
pulling  down  the  adjacent  houses  and  building  a  ram- 
part for  guns. 

In  truth  there  v/as  no  one  to  suggest  it,  and  if  it  had 
been  suggested  there  was  no  one  to  carry  it  out,  for  even 
now,  at  the  last,  the  Palace  seethed  with  dissension  and 
intrigue.     Yet   still  the   sham   went    on   inconceivably. 


428  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

Jim  Douglas,  indeed,  walking  through  the  bazaars  in  his 
Afghan  dress,  very  nearly  met  his  fate  through  it.  For 
he  was  seized  incontinently  and  made  to  figure  as  one  of 
the  retinue  of  the  Amir  of  Cabul's  ambassador,  who, 
about  the  beginning  of  September,  was  introduced  to  the 
private  Hall  of  Audience  as  a  sedative  to  doubtful  dream- 
ers, and  a  tonic  to  brocaded  bags.  Luckily  for  him,  how- 
ever, the  men  called  upon  to  play  the  other  part  in  the 
farce — chiefly  cloth-merchants  from  Peshawur  and  else- 
where, whom  Jim  Douglas  had  dodged  successfully  so 
far — had  been  in  such  abject  fear  of  being  discovered 
themselves  that  they  had  no  thought  of  discovering 
others.  For  Bahadur  Shah  had  the  dust  and  ashes  of 
a  Moghul  in  him  still.  Jim  Douglas  recognized  the  fact 
in  the  very  obstinacy  of  delusion  in  the  wax-like,  haggard 
old  face  looking  with  glazed,  tremulous-lidded  eyes  at  the 
mock  mission;  and  in  the  faded  voice,  accepting  his 
vassal  of  Cabul's  promise  of  help.  It  was  an  almost  in- 
credible scene,  Jim  Douglas  thought.  Given  it,  there 
was  no  limit  to  possibilities  in  this  phantasmagoria  of 
kingship.  The  white  shadows  of  the  marble  arches  with 
their  tale  of  boundless  power  and  wealth  in  the  past,  the 
wide  plains  beyond,  the  embroidered  curtain  of  the  sun- 
lit garden,  the  curves  of  courtiers,  most  of  them  in  the 
secret,  no  doubt ;  and  below  the  throne  these  tag-rag  and 
bob-tail  of  the  bazaars,  one  of  them  at  least  a  hell-doomed 
infidel,  figuring  away  in  borrowed  finery!  All  this  was 
as  unreal  as  a  magic  lantern  picture,  and  like  it  was 
followed  hap-hazard,  without  rhyme  or  reason,  by  the 
next  on  the  slide ;  for,  as  he  passed  out  of  the  Presence  he 
heard  the  question  of  appointing  a  Governor  to  Bombay 
brought  up  and  discussed  gravely;  that  province  being 
reported  to  have  sent  in  its  allegiance  en  bloc  to  the  Great 
Moghul.  The  slides,  however,  were  not  always  so  digni- 
fied, so  decorous.  One  came,  a  day  or  two  afterward, 
showing  a  miserable  old  pantaloon  driven  to  despair 
because  six  hundred  hungry  sepoys  would  not  behave 
according  to  strict  etiquette,  but,  invading  his  privacy 
w'ith  threats,  reduced  him  to  taking  his  beautiful  new 
cushion  from  the  Peacock  Throne  and  casting  it  among 
them. 


AT  LAST.  429 

"  Take  it,"  he  cried  passionately,  ''  it  is  all  I  have  left. 
Take  it,  and  let  me  go  in  peace!  " 

But  the  lesson  was  not  learned  by  him  as  yet;  so  he 
had  to  remain;  for  once  more  the  sepoys  sent  out  word 
that  there  was  to  be  no  skulking.  To  do  the  Royal 
family  justice,  however,  they  seem  by  this  time  to  have 
given  up  the  idea  of  flight.  To  be  sure  they  had  no 
place  to  which  they  could  fly,  since  the  dream  required 
that  background  of  rose-red  wall  and  marble  arches.  So 
even  Abool-Bukr,  forsaking  drunkenness  as  well  as  that 
kind,  detaining  hand,  clung  to  his  kinsfolk  bravely,  be- 
having in  all  ways  as  a  newly  married  young  prince 
should  who  looked  toward  filling  the  throne  itself  at  some 
future  time.* 

The  sepoys  themselves  had  given  up  blustering,  and 
many,  like  Soma,  had  taken  to  bhang  instead;  drugging 
themselves  deliberately  into  indifiference.  The  latter  had 
recovered  from  the  blow  on  the  back  of  his  head,  which, 
however,  as  is  so  often  the  case,  had  for  the  time  at  any 
rate  deprived  him  of  all  recollection  of  the  events  im- 
mediately preceding  it.  So,  as  Tara  had  restored  his 
uniform  before  he  was  able  to  miss  it,  he  treated  her  as 
if  nothing  had  occurred;  greatly  to  her  relief.  The  fact 
had  its  disadvantages,  however,  by  depriving  her  of  all 
corroborative  evidence  of  the  mem  having  really  left  the 
city.  Thus  Jim  Douglas,  warned  by  past  experience, 
and  made  doubtful  by  Tara's  strange  reticences,  refused 
to  believe  it.  Her  whole  story,  indeed,  marred,  as  it 
was,  by  the  endless  reserves  and  exaggerations,  seemed 
incredible;  the  more  so  because  Tiddu — who  lied  wildly 
as  to  his  constant  sojourn  in  Delhi — professed  utter  dis- 
belief in  it.  So,  after  a  few  days'  unavailing  attempt  to 
get  at  the  truth,  Jim  Douglas  sent  the  old  man  off  with  a 
letter  of  inquiry  to  the  Ridge,  and  waited  for  the  answer. 

Waited,  like  all  Delhi,  under  the  shadow  of  the  lifted 
sword  which  hung  above  the  city.  A  sword,  held  behind 
a  simulacrum  of  many,  by  one  arm,  sent  for  that  purpose; 
for  John  Lawrence,  being  wise,  knew  that  the  shadow 
of  that  arm  meant  more  even  than  the  sword  it  held  to 

*  His  widow  died  last  year,  having  spent  thirty-eight  years  of  her 
fifty-four  in  cherishing  the  memory  of  a  saint  upon  earth. 


430  OA'    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

the  wildest  half  of  the  province  under  his  control,  a  prov- 
ince trembling  in  the  balance  between  allegiance  and  re- 
volt; a  province  ready  to  catch  fire  if  the  extinguisher 
were  not  put  upon  the  beacon  light.  And  all  India 
waited  too.     Waited  to  see  that  sword  fall. 

But  a  hatchet  fell  first.  Fell  in  the  lemon  thickets  and 
pomegranates  of  the  walled  old  gardens,  so  that  men  who 
worked  at  the  batteries  still  remember  the  sweet  smell 
that  went  up  from  the  crushed  leaves.  A  welcome 
change;  for  the  Ridge,  crowded  now  with  eleven  thou- 
sand troops,  was  not  a  pleasant  abode.  It  was  on  Sun- 
day, the  6th  of  September,  that  the  final  reinforcements 
came  in,  and  on  the  7th  the  men,  reading  General  Wil- 
son's order  for  the  appointing  of  prize  agents  in  each 
corps,  and  his  assurance  that  all  plunder  would  be 
divided  fairly,  felt  as  if  they  were  already  within  the  walls. 
The  hospitals,  too,  were  giving  up  their  sick;  those  who 
could  not  be  of  use  going  to  the  rear,  Meerut-ward,  those 
fit  for  work  to  the  front.  And  that  night  the  first  siege 
battery  was  traced  and  almost  finished  below  the  Sammy- 
House,  while,  under  cover  of  this  distraction  on  the 
right,  the  Koodsia  Gardens  and  Ludlow  Castle  on  the 
left  were  occupied  by  strong  pickets. 

But  that  first  battery — only  seven  hundred  yards  from 
the  Moree  Bastion — had  a  struggle  for  dear  life.  The 
dawn  showed  but  one  gun  in  position  against  all  the  con- 
centrated fire  of  the  bastion  which,  during  the  night,  had 
been  lured  into  a  useless  duel  with  the  old  defense  batter- 
ies above.  Only  one  gun  at  dawai ;  but  by  noon — despite 
assault  and  battery — there  were  five,  answering  roar  for 
roar.  Then  for  the  first  time  began  that  w-elcome  echo: 
the  sound  of  crumbling  walls,  the  grumbling  roll  of  fall- 
ing stones  and  mortar.  By  sunset  the  gradually  dimin- 
ishing fire  from  the  bastion  had  ceased,  and  the  bastion 
itself  was  a  heap  of  ruins.  By  this  time  the  four  guns 
in  the  left  section  of  the  battery  were  keeping  down  the 
fire  from  the  Cashmere  gate,  and  so  protecting  the  real 
advance  through  the  gardens.  That  was  the  first  day  of 
the  siege,  and  Kate  Erlton.  sitting  in  her  little  tent,  which 
had  been  moved  into  a  quiet  spot,  as  she  had  begged  to 
be  allowed  to  stav  on  the  Ridge  until  some  news  came 


AT  LAST.  431 

of  the  man  to  whom  she  owed  so  much,  thought  with  a 
shudder  she  could  not  help,  of  what  it  must  mean  to 
many  an  innocent  soul  shut  up  within  those  walls.  It 
was  bad  enough  here,  where  the  very  tent  seemed  to 
shake.  It  must  be  terrible  down  there  beside  the  heating 
guns,  in  the  roar  and  the  rattle,  the  grime  and  the  ache 
and  strain  of  muscle.  But  in  the  city — even  in  Sri 
Anunda's  garden ! 

So,  naturally  enough,  she  wondered  once  more  what 
could  have  become  of  the  man  who  had  gone  back  to 
find  her  nearly  ten  days  before. 

"  May  I  come  in?     John  Nicholson." 

She  would  have  recognized  the  voice  even  without  the 
name,  for  it  was  not  one  to  be  forgotten.  Xor  was  the 
owner,  as  he  stood  before  her,  a  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  I  have  heard  from  Mr.  Douglas,  Mrs.  Erlton,"  he 
said.  "  It  is  in  the  Persian  character,  so  I  presume  it  is 
no  use  showing  it  to  you.  But  it  concerns  you  chiefly. 
He  wants  to  know  if  you  are  safe.  I  have  to  answer  it 
immediately.  Have  you  anv  message  vou  would  like  to 
send?" 

"Any  message?"  she  echoed.  "Only  that  he  must 
come  back  at  once,  of  course." 

John  Nicholson  looked  at  her  calmly. 

"  I  shall  say  nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  replied.  "  It  is 
best  for  a  man  to  decide  such  matters  for  himself." 

She  flushed  up  hotly.  "  I  had  not  the  slightest  inten- 
tion of  dictating  to  ^Ir. — ]\Ir.  Douglas,  General  Nichol- 
son; but  considering  how  much  he  has  already  sacrificed 
for  my  sake " 

"  You  had  better  let  him  do  as  he  likes,  my  dear 
madam,"  interrupted  the  General,  with  a  sudden  kindly 
smile,  which,  however,  faded  as  quickly  as  it  came,  leav- 
ing his  face  stern.  "  He,  like  many  another  man,  has 
sacrificed  too  much  for  women,  Mrs.  Erlton;  so  if  ever 
you  can  make  up  to  him  for  some  of  the  pain,  do  so — he 
is  worth  it.  Good-by.  I'll  tell  him  that  you  are  safe; 
but  that  in  spite  of  that,  he  has  my  permission  to  go 
ahead  and  kill — the  more  the  better." 

She  had  not  the  faintest  idea  why  he  made  this  last 
remark;  but  it  did  not  puzzle  her,  for  she  was  occupied 


432  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

with  his  previous  one.  Sacrificed  too  much!  That  was 
true.  He  carried  the  scars  of  the  knife  upon  him  clearly. 
And  the  man  who  had  just  left  her  presence,  who,  for  all 
his  courtesy,  had  treated  her  so  cavalierly?  She  was 
rather  vexed  with  herself  for  feeling  it,  but  a  sudden 
sense  of  being  a  poor  creature  came  over  her.  It  flashed 
upon  her  that  she  could  imagine  a  world  w  ithout  women 
— she  was  in  one,  almost,  at  that  very  moment — but  not 
a  world  without  men.  Yet  that  ceaseless  roar  filling  the 
air  had  more  to  do  with  women  than  men;  it  went  more 
as  a  challenge  of  revenge  than  a  stern  recall  to  duty. 

It  was  true.  The  men,  working  night  and  day  in  the 
batteries,  thought  little  of  men's  rights,  only  of  women's 
wrongs.  Even  General  Wilson  in  his  order  had  appealed 
to  those  under  him  on  that  ground  only,  urging  them  to 
spend  life  and  strength  freely  in  vengeance  on  murderers. 

And  they  did.  Down  in  the  scented  Koodsia  Gardens 
the  men  never  seemed  to  tire,  never  to  shrink,  though 
the  shot  from  the  city — not  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards 
away — flew  pinging  through  the  trees  above  them.  But 
the  high  wall  gave  cover,  and  so  those  olT  duty  slept 
peacefully  in  the  cool  shade,  or  sat  smoking  on  the  river- 
terrace. 

Thus,  while  the  first  battery,  pounding  away  from  the 
right  at  the  Moree  and  Cashmere  bastions,  diverted  at- 
tention, and  the  enemy,  deceived  by  the  feint,  lavished 
a  dogged  courage  in  trying  to  keep  up  some  kind  of 
reply,  a  second  siege  batter}^  in  two  sections  was  traced 
and  made  in  front  of  Ludlow  Castle,  five  hundred  yards 
from  the  Cashmere  gate.  By  dawn  on  the  i  ith  both  sec- 
tions were  at  work  destroying  the  defenses  of  the  gatcj 
and  pounding  away  to  breach  the  curtain  wall  beside  it. 
So  the  roar  was  doubled,  and  the  vibrations  of  the  air 
began  to  quiver  on  the  wearied  ear  almost  painfully.  Yet 
they  were  soon  trebled,  quadrupled.  Trebled  by  a  party 
of  wide-mouthed  mortars  in  the  garden  itself.  Quad- 
rupled by  a  wicked,  dare-devil,  impertinent  little  company 
of  six  eighteen-pounders  and  twelve  small  mortars, 
which,  with  Medley  of  the  Engineers  as  a  guide,  took  ad- 
vantage of  a  half  ruined  house  to  creep  within  a  hundred 


AT  LAST.  433 

and  sixty  yards  of  the  doomed  walls  despite  the  shower 
of  shell  and  bullets  from  it.  For  by  this  time  the  mur- 
derers in  the  city  had  found  out  that  the  men  were  at 
work  at  something  in  the  scented  thickets  to  the  left. 
Not  that  the  discovery  hindered  the  work.  The  native 
pioneers,  who  bore  the  brunt  of  it,  digging  and  piling  for 
the  wicked  little  intruder,  were  working  with  the  master, 
working  with  volunteers — officers  and  men  alike — from 
the  9th  Lancers  and  the  Carabineers.  So,  when  one  of 
their  number  toppled  over,  they  looked  to  see  if  he  were 
dead  or  alive  in  order  to  sort  him  out  properly.  And 
if  he  was  dead  they  would  weep  a  few  tears  as  they  laid 
him  in  the  row  beside  the  others  of  his  kind,  before  they 
went  on  with  their  work  quietly;  for,  having  to  decide 
whether  a  comrade  belonged  to  the  dead  or  the  living 
thirty-nine  times  one  night,  they  began  to  get  expert  at 
it.  So  by  the  12th,  fifty  guns  and  mortars  flashed  and 
roared,  and  the  rumble  of  falling  stones  became  almost 
continuous.  Sometimes  a  shell  would  just  crest  the 
parapet,  burst,  and  bring  away  yards  of  it  at  a  time. 

Up  on  the  Ridge  behind  the  siege  batteries,  when  the 
cool  of  the  evening  came  on,  every  post  was  filled  wnth 
sightseers  watching  the  salvos,  watching  the  game.  And 
one,  at  least,  going  back  to  get  ready  for  mess,  wrote  and 
told  his  wife  at  ]\Ieerut.  that  if  she  were  at  the  top  of  Flag- 
stafif  Tower,  she  would  remain  there  till  the  siege  was 
over — it  was  so  fascinating.  But  they  were  merry  on  the 
Ridge  in  these  days,  and  the  messes  were  so  full  that 
guests  had  to  be  limited  at  one,  till  they  got  a  new  leaf 
in  the  table!  Yet  on  the  other  slope  of  the  Ridge,  men 
were  tumbling  over  like  the  stones  in  the  walls.  Tumb- 
ling over  one  after  another  in  the  batteries,  all  through 
the  night  of  the  T2th,  and  the  day  of  the  13th. 

Then  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening,  men,  sitting  in  the 
mess-tents,  looked  at  each  other  joyfully,  yet  with  a  thrill 
in  their  veins,  as  the  firing  ceased  suddenly.  For  they 
knew  what  that  meant;  they  knew  that  down  under  the 
very  walls  of  the  city,  friends  and  comrades  were  creep- 
ing, sword  in  one  hand,  their  lives  in  the  other,  through 
the  starlight,  to  see  if  the  breaches  were  practicable. 


434  0,V   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

But  the  city  knew  them  to  be  so;  and  already  the  last 
order  sent  by  the  Palace  to  Delhi  was  being  proclaimed 
by  beat  of  drum  through  the  streets. 

So,  monotonously,  the  cry  rang  from  alley  to  alley. 

"  Intelligence  having  just  been  brought  that  the  infi- 
dels intend  an  assault  to-night,  it  is  incumbent  on  all, 
Hindoo  and  Mohammedan,  from  due  regard  to  their 
faith,  to  assemble  directly  by  the  Cashmere  gate,  bring- 
ing iron  picks  and  shovels  with  them.  This  order  is 
imperative." 

Newasi  Begum,  among  others,  heard  it  as  she  sat  read- 
ing. She  stood  up  suddenly,  overturning  the  book- 
rest  and  the  Holy  Word  in  her  haste ;  for  she  felt  that  the 
crisis  was  at  hand.  She  had  never  seen  Abool-Bukr 
since  the  night,  now  a  whole  month  past,  when  he  had 
taunted  her  with  being  one  more  woman  ready  for  kisses. 
Her  pride  had  kept  her  from  seeking  him,  and  he  had  not 
returned.  But  now  her  resentment  gave  way  before 
her  fears.  She  must  see  him — since  God  only  knew  what 
might  be  going  to  happen ! 

True  in  a  way.  But  up  on  the  Ridge  one  man  felt 
certain  of  one  thing.  John  Nicholson,  with  the  order 
for  an  assault  at  dawn  safe  in  his  hand,  knew  that  he 
would  be  in  Delhi  on  the  14th  of  September — a  day 
earlier  than  he  had  expected. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THROUGH    THE   WALLS. 

It  was  a  full  hour  past  dawn  on  the  14th  of  September 
ere  that  sudden  silence  fell  once  more  upon  the  echoing 
rocks  of  the  Ridge  and  the  scented  gardens.  So,  for  a 
second,  the  twittering  birds  in  the  thickets  behind  them 
might  have  been  heard  by  the  men  who,  with  fixed  bayo- 
nets, were  jostling  the  roses  and  the  jasmines.  But  they 
were  holding  their  breath — waiting,  listening,  for  some- 
thing very  different;  while  in  the  ears  of  many,  exclud- 
ing all  other  sounds,  lingered  the  cadence  of  the  text 


THROUGH   THE    WALLS.  435 

read  by  the  chaplain  before  dawn  in  the  church  lesson 
for  the  day. 

"  Woe  to  the  bloody  city — the  sword  shall  cut 
thee  off." 

For  to  many  the  coming  struggle  meant  neither 
justice  nor  revenge,  but  religion.  It  was  Christ  against 
Anti-Christ.  So,  whether  for  revenge  or  faith  they 
waited.  A  thousand  down  by  the  river  opposite  the 
Water  Bastion.  A  thousand  in  the  Koodsia  facing  the 
main  breach,  with  John  Nicholson,  first  as  ever,  to  lead 
it.  A  thousand  more  on  the  broad  white  road  fronting 
the  Cashmere  Bastion,  with  an  explosion  party  ahead  to 
blow  in  the  gate,  and  a  reserve  of  fifteen  hundred  to  the 
rear  waiting  for  success.  Briefly,  four  thousand  five 
liundred  men — more  than  half  natives — for  the  assault, 
facing  that  half  mile  or  so  of  northern  wall;  thus  within 
touch  of  each  other.  Beyond,  on  the  western  trend,  two 
thousand  more — mostly  untried  troops  from  Jumoo  and 
a  general  muster  of  casuals — to  sweep  through  the  sub- 
urbs and  be  ready  to  enter  by  the  Cabul  gate  when  it  was 
opened  to  them. 

Above,  on  the  Ridge,  six  hundred  sabers  awaiting 
orders.  Behind  it  three  thousand  sick  in  hospital,  a  weak 
defense,  and  that  rear-guard  of  graves. 

And  in  front  of  all  stood  that  tall  figure  with  the  keen 
eyes.  "  Are  you  ready,  Jones?  "  asked  Nicholson,  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  the  last  leader's  shoulder.  His  voice 
and  face  were  calm,  almost  cold. 

"  Ready,  sir!  " 

Then,  startling  that  momentary  silence,  came  the 
bugle. 

"  Advance!  " 

With  a  cheer  <^he  rifles  skirmished  ahead  joyfully.  The 
engineers  posted  in  the  furthest  cover  long  before  dawn 
— who  had  waited  for  hours,  knowing  that  each  minute 
made  their  task  harder — rose,  waving  their  swords  to 
guide  the  stormers  toward  the  breach!  Then,  calmly, 
as  if  it  had  been  dark,  not  daylight,  crested  the  glacis  at 
a  swift  walk,  followed  by  the  laddermen  in  line.  Behind, 
with  a  steady  tramp,  the  two  columns  bound  for  the 
breaches.     But  the  third,  upon  the  road,  had  to  wait  a 


436  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

while,  as,  like  greyhounds  from  a  leash,  a  little  company 
slipped  forward  at  the  double. 

Home  of  the  Engineers  first  with  two  sergeants,  a 
native  havildar,  and  ten  Punjab  sappers,  running  lightly, 
despite  the  twenty-five  pound  powder  bags  they  car- 
ried. Behind  them,  led  by  Salkeld,  the  firing  party  and 
a  bugler.  Running  under  the  hail  of  bullets,  faster  as 
they  fell  faster,  as  men  run  to  escape  a  storm;  but  these 
courted  it,  though  the  task  had  been  set  for  night,  and  it 
was  now  broad  daylight. 

What  then?  They  could  see  better.  See  the  outer 
gateway  open,  the  footway  of  the  drawbridge  destroyed, 
the  inner  door  closed  save  for  the  wicket. 

"  Come  on,"  shouted  Home,  and  was  across  the  bare 
beams  like  a  boy,  followed  by  the  others. 

Incredible  daring!  What  did  it  mean?  The  doubt 
made  the  scared  enemy  close  the  wicket  hastily.  So 
against  it,  at  the  rebels'  very  feet,  the  powder  bags  were 
laid.  True,  one  sergeant  fell  dead  with  his;  but  as  it  fell 
against  the  gates  his  task  was  done. 

"  Ready,  Salkeld! — your  turn,"  sang  out  young  Home 
from  the  ditch,  into  which,  the  bags  laid,  the  fuse  set,  he 
dropped  unhurt.  So  across  the  scant  foothold  came 
the  firing  party,  its  leader  holding  the  portfire.  But  the 
paralysis  of  amazement  had  passed;  the  enemy,  realizing 
what  the  audacity  meant,  had  set  the  wicket  wide.  It 
bristled  now  with  muskets;  so  did  the  parapet. 

"  Burgess! — your  turn,"  called  Salkeld  as  he  fell,  and 
passed  the  portfire  to  the  corporal  behind  him.  Burgess, 
alias  Grierson, — someone  perchance  retrieving  a  past 
under  a  new  name, — took  it,  stooped,  then  with  a  half 
articulate  cry  either  that  it  was  "  right "  or  "  out,"  fell 
back  into  the  ditch  dead.  Smith,  of  the  powder  party, 
lingering  to  see  the  deed  done,  thought  the  latter,  and, 
matchbox  in  hand,  sprang  forward,  cuddling  the  gate 
for  safety  as  he  struck  a  light.  But  it  was  not  needed. 
As  he  stooped  to  use  it,  the  port-fire  of  the  fuse  exploded 
in  his  face,  and,  half  blinded,  he  turned  to  plunge  head- 
long for  escape  into  the  ditch.  A  second  after  the  gate 
was  in  fragments. 

"Your  turn,  Hawthorne!"  came  that  voice  from  the 


THROUGH   THE    WALLS.  437 

ditch.  So  the  bugler,  who  had  braved  death  to  sound  it, 
gave  the  advance.  Once,  twice,  thrice,  carefully  lest  the 
din  from  the  breaches  should  drown  it.  Vain  precaution, 
not  needed  either;  for  the  sound  of  the  explosion  was 
enough.  That  thousand  on  the  road  was  hungering  to 
be  no  whit  behind  the  others,  and  with  a  wild  cheer  the 
stormers  made  for  the  gate. 

But  Nicholson  was  already  in  Delhi,  though  ten  min- 
utes had  gone  in  a  fierce  struggle  to  place  a  single  ladder 
against  an  avalanche  of  shot  and  stone.  But  that  one 
had  been  the  signal  for  him  to  slip  into  the  ditch,  and, 
calling  on  the  ist  Bengal  Fusiliers  to  follow,  escalade 
the  bastion,  first  as  ever. 

Even  so,  others  were  before  him.  Down  at  the  Water 
Bastion,  though  three-quarters  of  the  laddermen  had 
fallen  and  but  a  third  of  the  storming  party  remained, 
those  twenty-five  men  of  the  8th  had  gained  the  breach, 
and,  followed  by  the  whole  column,  were  clearing  the 
ramparts  toward  the  Cashmere  gate.  Hence,  again, 
without  a  check,  joined  by  the  left  half  of  Nicholson's 
column,  they  swept  the  enemy  before  them  like  fright- 
ened sheep  to  the  Moree  gate;  though  in  the  bastion  it- 
self the  gunners  stood  to  their  guns  and  were  bayoneted 
beside  them.  There,  with  a  whoop,  some  of  the  wilder 
one's  leaped  to  the  parapet  to  wave  their  caps  in  exulta- 
tion to  the  cavalry  below,  which,  in  obedience  to  orders, 
was  now  drawn  up,  ready  to  receive,  guarding  the  flank 
of  the  assault,  despite  the  murderous  fire  from  the  Cabul 
gate,  and  the  Burn  Bastion  beyond  it.  Sitting  in  their 
saddles,  motionless,  doing  nothing,  a  mark  for  the  enemy, 
yet  still  a  wall  of  defense.  So,  leaving  them  to  that  hard- 
est task  of  all — the  courage  of  inaction — the  victorious 
rush  swept  on  to  take  the  Cabul  gate,  to  sweep  past  it 
up  to  the  Burn  Bastion  itself — the  last  bastion  whicli 
commanded  the  position. 

And  then?  Then  the  order  came  to  retire  and  await 
orders  at  the  Cabul  gate.  The  fourth  column,  after  clear- 
ing the  suburbs,  was  to  have  been  there  ready  for  admit- 
tance, ready  to  support.  It  was  not.  And  Nicholson  was 
not  there  also,  to  dare  and  do  all.  He  had  had  to  pause 
at  the  Cashmere  gate  to  arrange  that  the  column  which 


438  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

had  entered  through  it  should  push  on  into  the  city,  leav- 
ing the  reserve  to  hold  the  points  already  won.  And 
now,  with  the  ist  Fusiliers  behind  him,  he  was  fighting 
his  way  through  the  streets  to  the  Cabul  gate.  So,  fear- 
ing to  lose  touch  with  those  behind,  over-rating  the  dan- 
ger, under-estimating  the  incalculable  gain  of  unchecked 
advance  with  an  eastern  foe,  the  leader  of  that  victorious 
sweeping  of  the  ramparts  was  content  to  set  the  Eng- 
lish flag  flying  on  the  Cabul  gate  and  await  orders.  But 
the  men  'had  to  do  something.  So  they  filled  up  the 
time  plundering.  And  there  were  liquor  shops  about. 
Europe  shops,  full  of  wine  and  brandy. 

The  flag  had  been  flying  over  an  hour  when  Nicholson 
came  up.  But  by  that  time  the  enemy — who  had  been 
flying  too — flying  as  far  as  the  boat  bridge  in  sheer  con- 
viction that  the  day  was  lost — had  recovered  some  cour- 
age and  were  back,  crowding  the  bastion  and  some  tall 
houses  beside  it.  And  in  the  lane,  three  hundred  yards 
long,  not  ten  feet  wide,  leading  to  it,  two  brass  guns  had 
been  posted  before  bullet  proof  screens  ready  to  mow 
down  the  intruders. 

Yet  once  more  John  Nicholson  saw  but  one  thing — 
the  Burn  Bastion.  Built  by  Englishmen,  it  was  one  of 
the  strongest — the  only  remaining  one,  in  fact,  likely  to 
give  trouble.  With  it  untaken  a  thorough  hold  on  the 
city  was  impossible.  Besides,  with  his  vast  knowledge  of 
native  character,  he  knew  that  the  enemy  had  expected 
us  to  take  it,  and  would  construe  caution  into  cowardice. 
Then  he  had  the  ist  Bengal  Fusiliers  behind  him.  He 
had  led  them  in  Delhi,  they  had  fallen  in  his  track  in  tens 
and  fifties,  and  still  they  had  come  on — they  would  do 
this  thing  for  him  now. 

"  We  will  do  what  we  can,  sir,"  said  their  commandant. 
Major  Jacob — but  his  face  was  grave. 

"  We  will  do  what  men  can  do,  sir,"  said  the  com- 
mandant of  that  left  half  of  the  column;  "but  honestly, 
I  don't  think  it  can  be  done.  We  have  tried  it  once." 
His  face-  was  graver  still. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Nicholson's  Brigade-major. 

Nicholson,  as  he  stood  by  the  houses  around  the  Cabul 
gate,  which  had  been  occupied  and  plundered  by  the 


THROUGH   THE    WALLS.  439 

troops,  looked  down  the  straight  lane  again.  It  hugged 
the  city  wall  on  its  right,  its  scanty  width  narrowed  here 
and  there  by  buttresses  to  some  three  feet.  About  a 
third  of  the  way  down  was  the  first  gun,  placed  beside  a 
feathery  kikar  tree  which  sent  a  lace-like  tracery  of 
shadow  upon  the  screen.  As  far  behind  was  the  second. 
Beyond,  again,  was  the  bastion  jutting  out,  and  so  forc- 
ing the  lane  to  bend  between  it  and  some  tall  houses. 
Both  were  crowded  with  the  enemy — the  screens  held 
bayonets  and  marksmen.  There  was  a  gun  close  to  the 
bastion  in  the  wall,  but  to  the  left,  cityward,  in  the  low, 
flat-roofed  mud  houses  there  seemed  no  trace  of  flank- 
ing foes. 

"  I  think  it  can  be  done,"  he  said.  He  knew  it  must 
be  done  ere  the  Palace  could  be  taken.  So  he  gave  the 
orders.     Fusiliers  forward;  ofihcers  to  the  front! 

And  to  the  front  they  went,  with  a  cheer  and  a  rush, 
overwhelming  the  first  gun,  within  ten  yards  of  the  other. 
And  one  man  was  closer  still,  for  Lieutenant  Butler, 
pinned  against  that  second  bullet-proof  screen  by  two 
bayonets  thrust  through  the  loopholes  at  him,  had  to 
fire  his  revolver  through  them  also,  ere  he  could  escape 
this  two-pronged  fork. 

But  the  fire  of  every  musket  on  the  bastion  and  the 
tall  houses  was  centered  on  that  second  gun.  Grape, 
canister,  raked  the  narrow  lane — made  narrower  by  fal- 
len Fusiliers — and  forced  those  \Vho  remained  to  fall  back 
upon  the  first  gun — beyond  that  even.  Yet  only  for  a 
moment.  Reformed  afresh,  they  carried  it  a  second  time, 
spiked  it  and  pressed  on.     Officers  still  to  the  front! 

Just  beyond  the  gun  the  commandant  fell  wounded  to 
death.  "  Go  on,  men,  go  on!  "  he  shouted  to  those  who 
would  have  paus-;d  to  help  him.     "  Forward,  Fusiliers!  " 

And  they  went  forward;  though  at  dawn  two  hundred 
and  fifty  men  had  dashed  for  the  breach,  and  now  there 
were  not  a  hundred  and  fifty  left  to  obey  orders.  Less! 
For  fifty  men  and  seven  officers  lay  in  that  lane  itself. 
Surely  it  was  time  now  for  others  to  step  in — and  there 
were  others! 

Nicholson  saw  the  waver,  knew  what  it  meant,  and 
sprang  forward  sword  in  hand,  calling  on  those  others  to 


44°  ON  THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

follow.  But  he  asked  too  much.  Where  the  ist  Fusi- 
liers had  failed,  none  cared  to  try.  That  is  the  simple 
truth.     The  limit  had  been  reached. 

So  for  a  minute  or  two  he  stood,  a  figure  instinct  with 
passion,  energy,  vitality,  before  men  who,  God  knows 
with  reason,  had  lost  all  three  for  the  moment.  A 
colossal  figure  beyond  them,  ahead  of  them,  asking  more 
than  mere  ordinary  men  could  do.  So  a  pitiful  figure — a 
failure  at  the  last! 

"  Come  on,  men!  Come  on,  you  fools — come  on,  you 
— you " 

What  the  word  was,  which  that  bullet  full  in  the  chest 
arrested  between  heart  and  lips,  those  who  knew  John 
Nicholson's  wild  temper,  his  indomitable  will,  his  fierce 
resentment  at  everything  which  fell  short  of  his  ideals, 
can  easily  guess. 

"  Lay  me  under  that  tree,"  he  gasped,  as  they  raised 
him.  '*  I  will  not  leave  till  the  lane  is  carried.  My  God! 
Don't  mind  me!  Forward,  men,  forward!  It  can  be 
done." 

An  hour  or  two  afterward  a  subaltern  coming  out  of 
the  Cashmere  gate  saw  a  dhooli,  deserted  by  its  bearers. 
In  it  lay  John  Nicholson  in  dire  agony;  but  he  asked 
nothing  of  his  fellows  then  save  to  be  taken  to  hospital. 
He  had  learned  his  lesson.  He  had  done  what  others 
had  set  him  to  do.  He  had  entered  Delhi.  He  had 
pricked  the  bubble,  and  the  gas  was  leaking  out.  But 
he  had  failed  in  the  task  he  had  set  himself.  The  Burn 
Bastion  was  still  unwon,  and  the  English  force  in  Delhi, 
instead  of  holding  its  northern  half  up  to  the  very  walls 
of  the  Palace,  secure  from  flanking  foes,  had  to  retire  on 
the  strip  of  open  ground  behind  the  assaulted  wall — if, 
indeed,  it  had  not  to  retire  further  still.  Had  one  man 
had  his  way  it  would  have  retired  to  the  Ridge.  Late  in 
the  afternoon,  when  fighting  was  over  for  the  day,  Gen- 
eral Wilson  rode  round  the  new-won  position,  and,  map 
in  hand,  looked  despairingly  toward  the  network  of  nar- 
row lanes  and  alleys  beyond.  And  he  looked  at  some- 
thing close  at  hand  with  even  greater  forebodings;  for 
he  stood  in  the  European  quarter  of  the  town  among 
shops  still  holding  vast  stores  of  wine  and  spirits  which 


THROUGH   THE    WALLS.  441 

had  been  left  untouched  by  that  other  army  of 
occupation. 

But  what  of  this  one?  This  product  of  civiHzation, 
and  culture,  and  Christianity;  these  men  who  could  give 
points  to  those  others  in  so  many  ways,  but  might  barter 
their  very  birthright  for  a  bottle  of  rum.  Yet  even  so, 
the  position  must  be  held.  So  said  Baird  Smith  at  the 
chief's  elbow,  so  wrote  Neville  Chamberlain,  unable  to 
leave  his  post  on  the  Ridge.  And  another  man  in  hos- 
pital, thinking  of  the  Burn  Bastion,  thinking  with  a 
strange  wonder  of  men  wdio  could  refuse  to  follow, 
muttered  under  his  breath,  "Thank  God!  I  have  still 
strength  left  to  shoot  a  coward." 

And  yet  General  Wilson  in  a  way  was  right.  Five 
days  afterward  Major  Hodson  wrote  in  his  diary:  "The 
troops  are  utterly  demoralized  by  hard  work  and  hard 
drink.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  have  had  to  see 
English  soldiers  refuse  repeatedly  to  follow  their  officers. 
Jacob,  Nicholson,  Greville,  Speke  were  all  sacrificed  to 
this." 

A  terrible  indictment  indeed,  against  brave  men. 

Yet  not  worse  than  that  underlying  the  chief's  order 
of  the  15th,  directing  the  Provost-marshal  to  search 
for  and  smash  every  bottle  and  barrel  to  be  found,  and  let 
the  beer  and  wine,  so  urgently  needed  by  the  sick,  run 
into  the  gutters;  or  his  admission  three  days  later  that 
another  attempt  to  take  the  Lahore  gate  had  failed  from 
"  the  refusal  of  the  European  soldiers  to  follow  their  offi- 
cers. One  rush  and  it  could  have  been  done  easily — 
we  are  still,  therefore,  in  the  same  position  to-day  as  we 
were  yesterday." 

So  much  for  drink. 

But  the  enemy  luckily  was  demoralized  also.  It  was 
still  full  of  defense;  empty  of  attack. 

For  one  thing,  attack  would  have  admitted  a  reverse; 
and  over  on  that  eastern  wall  of  the  Palace,  in  the  fretted 
marble  balcony  overlooking  the  river,  there  was  no  men- 
tion, even  now,  of  such  a  word.  Reverse!  Had  not 
the  fourth  column  been  killed  to  a  man?  Had  not  Nik- 
alseyn  himself  fallen  a  victim  to  valor?  But  Soma, 
and  many  a  man  of  his  sort,  gave  up  the  pretense  with 


442  C.V    THE   FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

bitter  curses  at  themselves.  They  had  seen  from  their 
own  posts  that  victorious  escalade,  that  swift,  unchecked 
herding  of  the  frightened  sheep.  And  they — intolerable 
thought! — were  sheep  also.  They  saw  men  with  dark 
faces,  no  whit  better  than  they — better! — the  Rajpoot 
had  at  least  a  longer  record  than  the  Sikh! — led  to  vic- 
tory while  they  were  not  led  at  all.  So  brought  face  to 
face  once  more  with  the  old  familiar  glory  and  honor, 
the  old  familiar  sight  of  the  master  first — uncompromis- 
ingly, indubitably  first  to  snatch  success  from  the  grasp 
of  Fate,  and  hand  it  back  to  them — they  thought  of  the 
past  three  months  with  loathing. 

And  as  for  Nikalseyn's  rebuff.  Soma,  hearing  of  it 
from  a  comrade,  hot  at  heart  as  he,  went  to  the  place, 
and  looked  down  the  lane  as  John  Nicholson  had  done. 
By  all  the  Pandavas!  a  place  for  heroes  indeed!  Ah!  if 
he  had  been  there,  he  would  have  stayed  there  somehow. 
He  walked  up  and  down  it  moodily,  picturing  the 
struggle  to  himself;  thinking  with  a  curious  anger  of 
those  men  on  the  housetops,  in  the  bastion,  taking  pot- 
shots at  the  unsheltered  men  below.  That  was  all  there 
would  be  now.  They  might  drive  the  masters  back  for 
a  time,  they  might  inveigle  them  into  lanes  and  reduce 
their  numbers  by  tens  and  fifties,  they,  men  of  his  sort, 
might  make  a  brave  defense. 

Defense!  Soma  wanted  to  attack.  Attracted  by  the 
faint  shade  of  the  kikar  tree  he  sat  down  beneath  it,  rest- 
ing against  the  trunk,  looking  along  the  lane  once  more, 
just  as,  a  day  or  two  before,  John  Nicholson  had  rested 
for  a  space.  And  the  iron  of  failure  entered  into  this 
man's  heart  also,  because  there  was  none  to  lead.  And 
with  the  master  there  had  been  none  to  follow. 

Suddenly  he  rose,  his  mind  .made  up.  If  that  was  so, 
let  him  go  back  to  the  plow.  That  also  was  a  hereditary 
trade. 

That  night,  without  a  word  to  anyone,  leaving  his 
uniform  behind  him,  he  started  along  the  Rohtuck  road 
for  his  ancestral  village.  But  he  had  to  make  a  detour 
round  the  suburbs,  for,  despite  that  annihilation  spoken 
of  in  the  Palace,  they  were  now  occupied  by  the  English. 

Yet  but  little  headway  had  been  made  in  securing  a 
firmer  hold  within  the  citv  itself, 


THROUGH    THE    WALLS.  443 

"  You  can't,  till  the  Burn  Bastion  is  taken  and  the 
Lahore  gate  secured,"  said  Nicholson  from  his  dying 
bed,  whence,  growing  perceptibly  weaker  day  by  day, 
yet  with  mind  clear  and  unclouded,  he  watched  and 
warned.  The  single  eye  was  not  closed  yet,  was  not 
even  made  dim  by  death.  It  saw  still,  what  it  had  seen 
on  the  day  of  the  assault;  what  it  had  coveted  then  and 
failed  to  reach. 

But  it  was  not  for  five  days  after  this  failure  that  even 
Baird  Smith  recognized  the  absolute  accuracy  of  this 
judgment,  and,  against  the  Chief's  will,  obtained  permis- 
sion to  sap  through  the  shelter  of  the  intervening  houses 
till  they  could  tackle  the  bastion  at  close  and  command- 
ing quarters  without  asking  the  troops  to  face  another 
lane.  So  on  the  morning  of  the  19th,  after  a  night  of 
storm  and  rain  cooling  the  air  incredibly,  the  pick-ax 
began  what  rifles  and  swords  had  failed  to  do.  By  night- 
fall a  tall  house  was  reached,  whence  the  bastion  could 
be  raked  fore  and  aft.  Its  occupants,  recognizing  this, 
took  advantage  of  the  growing  darkness  to  evacuate  it. 
Half  an  hour  afterward  the  master-key  of  the  position 
was  in  English  hands. 

Rather  unsteady  ones,  for  here  again  the  troops — 
once  more  the  8th,  the  75th,  the  Sikh  Infantry,  and  that 
balance  of  the  Fusiliers — had  found  more  brandy. 

"  Poisoned,  sir?  "  said  one  thirsty  trooper,  flourishing 
a  bottle  of  Exshaw's  Number  One  before  the  eyes  of  his 
Captain,  who,  as  a  last  inducement  to  sobriety,  was  sug- 
gesting danger.     "  Not  a  bit  of  it.     Capsules  all  right." 

But  this  time  England  could  afford  a  few  drunk  men. 
The  bastion  was  gone,  and  by  the  Turkoman  and  Delhi 
gates  half  the  town  was  going.  And  not  only  the  town. 
Down  in  the  Palr^.ce  men  and  women,  with  fumbling 
hands  and  dazed  eyes,  like  those  new  roused  from  dreams, 
were  snatching  at  something  to  carry  with  them  in  their 
flight.  Bukht  Khan  stood  facing  the  Queen  in  her 
favorite  summer-house,  alone,  save  for  Hafzan,  the 
scribe,  who  lingered,  watching  them  with  a  certain  malice 
in  her  eyes.  She  had  been  right.  \"engeance  had  been 
coming.     Now  it  had  come. 

"  All  is  not  lost,  mv  Oueen,"  said  Bukht  Khan,  with 


444  Oy    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

hand  on  sword.  "  The  open  country  Ues  before  us, 
Lucknow  is  ours — come!" 

"  And  the  King,  and  my  son,"  she  faltered.  The  dull 
glitter  of  her  tarnished  jewelry  seemed  in  keeping  with 
the  look  on  her  face.  There  was  something  sordid  in  it. 
Sordid,  indeed,  for  behind  that  mask  of  wifely  solicitude 
and  maternal  care  lay  the  thought  of  her  hidden  treasure. 

"  Let  them  come  too.     Naught  hinders  it." 

True.     But  the  gold,  the  gold! 

After  he  had  left  her,  impatient  of  her  hesitation,  a 
sudden  terror  seized  her,  lest  he  might  have  sought  the 
King,  lest  he  might  persuade  him. 

"My  bearers — woman!  Quick!"  she  called  to  Haf- 
zan.     "  Quick,  fool!  my  dhooli!  " 

But  even  dhooli  bearers  have  to  fly  when  vengeance 
shadows  the  horizon;  and  in  that  secluded  corner  none 
remained.  Everyone  was  busy  elsewhere;  or  from 
sheer  terror  clustered  together  where  soldiers  were  to 
be  found. 

"  The  Ornament-of-Palaces  can  walk,"  said  Hafzan, 
still  with  that  faint  malice  in  her  face.  "  There  is  none 
to  see,  and  it  is  not  far." 

So,  for  the  last  time,  Zeenut  Maihl  left  the  summer- 
house  whence  she  had  watched  the  Meerut  road.  Left 
it  on  foot,  as  many  a  better  woman  as  unused  to  walking 
as  she  was  leaving  Delhi  with  babies  on  their  breasts  and 
little  children  toddling  beside  them.  Past  the  faint  out- 
line of  the  Pearl  Mosque,  through  the  cool  damp  of  the 
watered  garden  with  the  moon  shining  overhead,  she 
stumbled  laboriously.  Up  the  steps  of  the  Audience 
Hall  toward  a  faint  light  by  the  Throne.  The  King  sat 
on  it,  almost  in  the  dark;  for  the  oil  cressets  on  a  trefoil 
stand  only  seemed  to  make  the  shadows  blacker.  They 
lay  thick  upon  the  roof,  blotting  out  that  circling  boast. 
Before  him  stood  Bukht  Khan,  his  hand  still  on  his 
sword,  broad,  contemptuously  bold.  But  on  either  side 
of  the  shrunken  figure,  half  lost  in  the  shadows  also, 
were  other  counselors.  Ahsan-Oolah,  wily  as  ever, 
Elahi  Buksh,  the  time-server,  who  saw  the  only  hope  oi 
safety  in  prompt  surrender. 

''  Let  the  Pillar-of- Faith  claim  time  for  thought/'  thQ 


THROUGH   THE    WALLS.  445 

latter  was  saying.  "  There  is  no  hurry.  If  the  souba- 
clar-sahib  is  in  one,  let  him  go " 

Bukht  Khan  broke  in  with  an  ugly  laugh,  "  Yea, 
Mirza-sahib,  I  can  go,  but  if  I  go  the  army  goes  with  me. 
Remember  that.  The  King  can  keep  the  rabble.  I 
have  the  soldiers." 

Bahadur  Shah  looked  from  one  to  the  other  help- 
lessly. Whether  to  go,  risk  all,  endure  a  life  of  unknown 
discomfort  at  his  age,  or  remain,  alone,  unprotected,  he 
knew  not. 

"  Yea!  that  is  true.  Still  there  is  no  need  for  hurry,'" 
put  in  the  physician,  with  a  glance  at  Elahi  Buksh. 
"  Let  my  master  bid  the  soubadar  and  the  army  meet 
him  at  the  Tomb  of  Humayon  to-morrow  morning. 
'Twill  be  more  seemly  time  to  leave  than  now,  like  a 
thief  in  the  night." 

Bukht  Khan  gave  a  sharp  look  at  the  speaker,  then 
laughed  again.  He  saw  the  game.  He  scarcely  cared 
to  check  it. 

"  So  be  it.  But  let  it  be  before  noon.  I  will  wait  no 
longer." 

As  he  passed  out  hastily  he  almost  ran  into  a  half- 
veiled  figure,  which,  with  another  behind  it,  was  hugging 
one  of  the  pillars,  peering  forward,  listening.  He 
guessed  it  for  the  Queen,  and  paused  instantly. 

"  'Tis  thy  last  chance,  Zeenut  >\Iaihl,"'  he  whispered  in 
her  ear.     "  Come  if  thou  art  wist." 

The  last.  No!  not  that.  The  last  for  sovereignty 
perhaps,  but  not  for  hidden  treasure.  Half  an  hour 
afterward,  a  little  procession  of  Royal  dhoolies  passed 
out  of  the  Palace  on  their  way  to  Elahi  Buksh's  house 
beside  the  Delhi  gate,  and  Ahsan-Oolah  walked  beside 
the  Queen's.  He  had  gold  also  to  save,  and  he  was  wise; 
so  she  listened,  and  as  she  listened  she  told  herself  that 
it  would  be  best  to  stay.  Her  life  was  safe,  and  her  son 
was  too  young  for  the  punishment  of  death.  As  for  the 
King,  he  was  too  old  for  the  future  to  hold  anything 
else. 

Hafzan  watched  her  go,  still  with  that  half-jeering 
smile,  then  turned  back  into  the  empty  Palace.  Even  in 
the  outer  court  it  was  empty,   indeed,   save   for  a  few 


44^  ON   THE  PACE   OE    THE    WATERS. 

fanatics  muttering"  texts;  and  within  the  precincts,  de- 
serted utterly,  silent  as  the  grave.  Until,  suddenly,  from 
the  Pearl  Mosque  a  voice  came,  giving  the  call  to  prayer; 
for  it  was  not  far  from  dawn. 

She  paused,  recognizing  it,  and  leaving  the  marble 
terrace  where  she  had  been  standing,  looking  riverward, 
walked  over  to  the  bronze-studded  door,  and  peered  in 
among  the  white  arches  of  the  mosque  for  what  she 
sought. 

And  there  it  was,  a  tall  white  figure  looking  westward, 
its  back  toward  her,  its  arms  spread  skyward.  A  fanatic 
of  fanatics. 

"  Thou  art  not  wise  to  linger  here,  Moulvie  sahib,"  she 
called.  "  Hast  not  heard?  The  Burn  Bastion  is  taken. 
The  King  and  Queen  have  fled.  The  English  will  be 
here  in  an  hour  or  so,  and  then " 

"  And  then  there  comes  judgment,"  answered  Mo- 
hammed Ismail,  turning  to  look  at  her  sternly.  "  Doth 
not  it  lie  within  these  walls?  I  stay  here,  woman,  as  I 
have  stayed." 

"  Nay,  not  here,"  she  argued  in  conciliatory  tones. 
"It  lies  yonder,  in  the  outer  court,  by  the  trees  shadow- 
ing the  little  tank.  Thou  canst  see  it  from  the  window 
of  my  uncle's  room.  And  he  hath  gone — like  the  others. 
'Twere  better  to  await  it  there." 

She  spoke  as  she  would  have  spoken  to  a  madman. 
And,  indeed,  she  held  him  to  be  little  else.  Here  was  a 
man  who  had  saved  forty  infidels,  whose  reward  was 
sure.  And  who  must  needs  imperil  it  by  lingering 
where  death  was  certain ;  must  needs  think  of  his  battered 
soul  instead  of  his  body.  Mohammed  Ismail  came  and 
stood  beside  her,  with  a  curious  acquiesence  in  regard  to 
details  which  is  so  often  seen  in  men  mastered  by  one 
idea. 

"  It  may  be  better  so,  sister,"  he  said  dreamily.  "  'Tis 
as  well  to  be  prepared." 

Hafzan's  hard  eyes  melted  a  little,  for  she  had  a  real 
pity  for  this  man  who  had  haunted  the  Palace  per- 
sistently, and  lost  his  reason  over  his  conscience. 

If  she  could  once  get  him  into  her  uncle's  room,  she 
would  find  some  method  of  locking  him  in,  of  keeping 


THROUGH   THE    WALLS.  447 

him  out  of  mischief.  For  herself,  being  a  woman,  the 
Huzoors  were  not  to  be  feared. 

"  Yea!  'tis  as  well  to  be  near,"  she  said  as  she  led  the 
way. 

And  the  time  drew  near  also ;  for  the  dawn  of  the  20th 
of  September  had  broken  ere,  with  the  key  of  the  outer 
door  in  her  bosom,  she  retired  into  an  inner  room,  leav- 
ing the  Moulvie  saying  his  prayers  in  the  other.  Already 
the  troops,  recovered  from  their  unsteadiness,  had  carried 
the  Lahore  gate  and  were  bearing  down  on  the  mosque. 
They  found  it  almost  undefended.  The  circling  flight  of 
purple  pigeons,  which  at  the  first  volley  flew  westward, 
the  sun  glistening  on  their  iridescent  plumage,  was 
scarcely  more  swift  than  the  flight  of  those  who  at- 
tempted a  feeble  resistance.  And  now  the  Palace  lay 
close  by.  With  it  captured,  Delhi  was  taken.  Its  walls, 
it  is  true,  rose  unharmed,  secure  as  ever,  hemming  in 
those  few  acres  of  God's  earth  from  the  march  of  time; 
but  they  were  strangely  silent.  Only  now  and  again  a 
pufif  of  white  smoke  and  an  unavailing  roar  told  thnt 
someone,  who  cared  not  even  for  success,  remained 
within. 

So  powder  bags  were  brought.  Home  of  the  Engi- 
neers sent  for,  that  he  might  light  the  fuse  which  gave 
entry  to  the  last  stronghold;  for  there  was  no  hurry 
now.  No  racing  now  under  haijstorms,  and  over  tight- 
ropes. Calmly,  quietly,  the  fuse  was  lit,  the  gate  shiv- 
ered to  atoms,  and  the  long  red  tunnel  with  the  gleam  of 
sunlight  at  its  end  lay  before  the  men,  who  entered  it 
with  a  cheer.  Then,  here  and  there  rose  guttural  Arabic 
texts,  ending  in  a  groan.  Here  and  there  the  clash  of 
arms.  But  not  enough  to  rouse  Hafzan,  who,  long  ere 
this,  had  fallen  asleep  after  her  wakeful  night.  It  needed 
a  touch  on  her  shoulder  for  that,  and  the  Moulvie's 
eager  voice  in  her  ear. 

"The  key,  woman!  The  kev — give  it!  I  need  the 
key." 

Half-dazed  by  sleep,  deceived  by  the  silence,  she  put 
her  hand  mechanically  to  her  bosom.  His  followed  hers; 
he  had  what  he  sought,  and  was  off.  She  sprang  to  her 
feet,  recognizing  some  danger,  and  followed  him. 


44^  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

"  He  is  mad!  He  is  mad!  "  she  cried,  as  her  halting 
steps  Hngered  behind  the  tall  white  figure  which  made 
straight  for  a  crowd  of  soldiers  gathered  round  the  little 
tank.  There  were  other  soldiers  here,  there,  everywhere 
in  the  rose-red  arcades  around  the  sun-lit  court.  Sol- 
diers with  dark  faces  and  white  ones  seeking  victims, 
seeking  plunder.  But  these  in  the  center  were  all  white 
men,  and  they  were  standing,  as  men  stand  to  look  at  a 
holy  shrine,  upon  the  place  where,  as  the  spies  had  told 
them,  English  women  and  children  had  been  murdered. 

So  toward  them,  while  curses  were  in  all  hearts  and  on 
some  lips,  came  the  tall  white  figure  with  its  arms  out- 
spread, its  wild  eyes  aflame. 

"  O  God  of  Might  and  Right!  Give  judgment  now, 
give  judgment  now." 

The  cry  rolled  and  echoed  through  the  arcades  to  alien 
ears  even  as  other  cries. 

"  He  is  mad — he  saved  them — he  is  mad!  "  gasped  the 
maimed  woman  behind;  but  her  cry  seemed  no  different 
to  those  unheeding  ears. 

The  tall  white  figure  lay  on  its  face,  half  a  dozen 
bayonets  in  its  back,  and  half  a  dozen  more  were  after 
Hafzan. 

"  Stick  him!  Stick  him!  A  man  in  disguise.  Re- 
member the  women  and  children.     Stick  the  coward!  " 

She  fled  shrieking — shrill,  feminine  shrieks;  but  the 
men's  blood  was  up.  They  could  not  hear,  they  would 
not  hear;  and  yet  the  awkwardness  of  that  flying  figure 
made  them  laugh  horribly. 

"  Don't  'ustle  'im!  Give  'im  time!  There's  plenty  o' 
run  in  'im  yet,  mates.  Lord!  'e'd  get  first  prize  at  Lillie 
Bridge  'e  would." 

Someone  else,  however,  had  got  it  at  Harrow  not  a 
year  before,  and  was  after  the  reckless  crew.  Almost 
too  late — not  quite.  Hafzan,  run  to  earth  against  a  red 
wall,  felt  something  on  her  back,  and  gave  a  wild  yell. 
But  it  was  only  a  boy's  hand. 

"  My  God!  sir,  I've  stuck  you!"  faltered  a  voice  be- 
hind, as  a  man  stood  rigid,  arrested  in  mid-thrust. 

"You   d d   fool!"  said   the   boy.     "Couldn't   you 

hear  it  was  a  woman?     I'll — I'll  have  you  shot.     Oh, 


REWARDS  AND  PUNISHMENTS.  449 

hang  it  all!  Drag  the  creature  away,  someone.  Get 
out,  do!  " 

For  Hafzan,  as  he  stood  stanching  the  blood  from 
the  slight  wound,  had  fallen  at  his  feet  and  was  kissing 
them  frantically. 

But  even  that  indignity  was  forgotten  as  the  stained 
handkerchief  answered  the  flutter  of  something  which  at 
that  moment  caught  the  breeze  above  him. 

It  was  the  English  fiag. 

The  men,  forgetting  everything  else,  cheered  them- 
selves hoarse — cheered  again  when  an  orderly  rode  past 
waving  a  slip  of  paper  sent  back  to  the  General  with  the 
laconic  report: 

"  Blown  open  the  gates!     Got  the  Palace!  " 

But  Hafzan,  her  veil  up  to  prevent  mistakes,  limped 
over  to  where  the  Moulvie  lay,  turned  him  gently  on  his 
back,  straightened  his  limbs  and  closed  his  eyes.  She 
would  have  liked  to  tell  the  truth  to  someone,  but  there 
was  no  one  to  listen.  So  she  left  him  there  before  the 
tribunal  to  which  he  had  appealed. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

REWARDS    AND     PUNISHMENTS. 

So  the  strain  of  months  was  over  on  the  Ridge.  Delhi 
was  taken;  the  Queen's  health  was  being  drunk  night 
after  night  in  the  Palace  of  the  Moghuls.  But  there  was 
one  person  to  whom  the  passing  days  brought  a  growing 
anxiety.  This  was  Kate  Erlton;  for  there  were  no  tid- 
ings of  Jim  Douglas.     None. 

At  first  she  had  comforted  herself  with  the  idea  that  he 
was  still,  for  some  reason  or  another,  keeping  to  the  yet 
unconquered  part  of  the  city;  that  he  was  obliged  to  do 
so  being  impossible,  the  long  files  of  women  and  children 
seeking  safety  and  passing  through  the  Ridge  fearlessly 
precluding  that  consolation.  Still  it  was  conceivable 
he  might  be  busy,  though  it  seemed  strange  he  should 
have  sent  no  word.     So,  like  manv  another  in  India  at 


450  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

that  time,  she  waited,  hoping  against  hope,  possessing 
her  soul  in  patience.  She  had  no  lack  of  occupation  to 
distract  her.  How  could  there  be  for  a  woman,  when 
close  on  twelve  hundred  men  had  come  back  from  the 
city  dead  or  wounded? 

But  now  the  21st  of  September  was  upon  them.  The 
city  was  occupied,  the  work  was  over.  Yet  Captain 
Morecombe,  coming  back  from  it,  shook  his  head.  He 
had  spent  time  and  trouble  in  the  search,  but  had  failed — 
failed  even,  from  Kate's  limited  ideas  of  their  locality, 
to  find  either  Tara's  lodging  or  the  roof  in  the  Mufti's 
quarter.  She  could  have  found  them  herself,  she  said 
almost  pathetically;  but  of  course  that  was  impossible 
now,  and  would  be  so  for  some  time  to  come. 

"  I'm  afraid  it  is  no  use,  Mrs.  Erlton,"  said  the  Cap- 
tain kindly.  "  There  is  not  a  trace  to  be  found,  even  by 
Hodson's  spies.  Unless  he  is  shut  up  somewhere,  he — 
he  must  be  dead.  It  is  so  likely  that  he  should  be;  you 
must  see  that.  Possibly  before  the  siege  began.  Let  us 
hope  so." 

"  Why?  "  she  asked  quickly.  "  You  mean  that  there 
have  been  horrible  things  done  of  late? — things  like  that 
poor  soldier  who  was  found  chained  outside  the  Cash- 
mere gate  as  a  target  for  his  fellows?  Have  there?  I 
w^ould  so  much  rather  know  the  worst, — I  used  always  to 
tell  Mr.  Douglas  so, — it  prevents  one  dreaming  at  night." 
She  shivered  as  she  spoke,  and  the  man  watching  her 
felt  his  heart  go  out  toward  her  with  a  throb  of  pity. 
How  long,  he  wondered  irrelevantly,  would  it  take  her 
to  forget  the  miserable  tragedy,  to  be  ready  for  con- 
solation? 

"  Yes,  there  have  been  terrible  things  on  both  sides. 
There  always  are.  You  can't  help  it  when  you  sack 
cities,"  he  replied,  interrupting  himself  hastily  with  a 
sort  of  shame.  "  The  Ghoorkhas  had  the  devil  in  them 
when  I  was  down  in  the  Mufti's  quarter.  They  shot 
dozens  of  helpless  learned  people  in  the  Chelon-ke- 
kucha — one  who  coached  me  up  for  my  exams.  And 
about  twelve  women  in  the  house  of  a  '  Professor  of 
Arabic  ' — so  he  styled  himself — jumped  down  the  wall 
to  escape — their  own  fears  chiefly.     For  the  men  wanted 


REWARDS  AND  PUNISHMENTS.  45  i 

loot,  nothing  else.  That  is  the  worst  of  it.  The  whole 
story  from  beginning  to  end  seems  so  needless.  It  is  as 
if  Fate " 

She  interrupted  him  quietly,  "  It  has  been  Fate.  Fate 
from  beginning  to  end." 

He  sat  for  an  instant  with  a  grave  face,  then  looked  up 
with  a  smile.  "  Perhaps.  It's  rather  apropos  dcs  bottcs, 
Mrs.  Erlton,  but  I  wanted  to  ask  you  a  question.  Hadn't 
you  a  white  cockatoo,  once?  When  you  first  came  here. 
I  seem  to  recollect  the  bird  making  a  row  in  the 
veranda  when  I  used  to  drive  up." 

Her  face  grew  suddenly  pale,  she  sat  staring  at  him 
with  dread  in  her  eyes.  "Yes!"  she  replied  with  a 
manifest  effort,  "  I  gave  it  to  Sonny  Seymour  because — 

because  it  loved  him "     She  broke  off,  then  added 

swiftly,  eagerly,  "  What  then?  " 

"'  Only  that  I  found  one  in  the  Palace  to-day.  There 
is  a  jolly  marble  latticed  balcony  overlooking  the  river. 
The  King  used  to  write  his  poetry  there,  they  say. 
Well!  I  saw  a  brass  cage  hanging  high  up  on  a  hook — 
there  has  been  no  loot  in  the  precincts,  you  know%  for 
the  Staff  has  annexed  them;  I  thought  the  cage  was 
empty  till  I  took  it  down  from  sheer  curiosity,  and  there 
was  a  dead  cockatoo." 

"Dead!"  echoed  Kate,  with  a  quick  smile  of  relief. 
"  Oh!  how  glad  I  am  it  was  dead." 

Captain  Morecombe  stared  at  her.  "Poor  brute!" 
he  said  under  his  breath.  "  It  was  skin  and  bone. 
Starved  to  death.  I  expect  they  forgot  all  about  it  when 
thev  got  reallv  frightened.  Thev  are  cruel  devils,  ^Mrs. 
Erlton." 

The  Alajor  had  used  the  self-same  words  to  Alice 
Gissing  eighteen  months  before,  and  in  the  same  connec- 
tion. But,  perhaps  fortunately  for  Kate  in  her  present 
state  of  nervous  strain,  that  knowledge  was  denied  to 
her.  Even  so  the  coincidence  of  the  bird  itself  absorbed 
her. 

It  had  a  yellow  crest,"  she  began. 

"Oh!  then  it  couldn't  have  been  yours,"  interrupted 
Captain  Alorecombe,  rather  relieved,  for  he  saw  that  he 
had  somehow  touched  on  a  hidden  wound.     "  This  one 


452  ON   THE  FACE   OP   THE    WATERS. 

was  green;  yellowish  green.  I  dare  say  the  King  kept 
pets  like  the  Oude  man " 

"  It  is  dead  anyhow,"  said  Kate  hurriedly. 

And  the  knowledge  gave  her  an  unreasoning  com- 
fort. To  begin  with,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  those  fateful 
white  wings,  which  had  begun  to  overshadow  her  world 
on  that  sunny  evening  down  by  the  Goomtee  river,  had 
ceased  to  hover  over  it.  And  then  this  rounding  of  the 
tale — for  that  the  bird  was  little  Sonny's  favorite  she  did 
not  doubt — made  her  feel  that  Fate  would  not  leave  that 
other  portion  of  it  unfinished.  The  inevitable  sequence 
would  be  worked  out  somehow.  She  would  hear  some- 
thing. So  once  more  she  waited  like  many  another; 
waiting  with  eyes  strained  past  the  last  known  deed  of 
gallantry  for  the  end  which  surely  must  have  been  nobler 
still.  When  that  knowledge  came,  she  told  herself,  she 
would  be  content. 

Yet  there  was  another  thing  which  held  her  to  hope 
even  more  than  this;  it  was  the  remembrance  of  John 
Nicholson's  words,  "  If  ever  you  have  a  chance  of  mak- 
ing up."  They  seemed  prophetic;  for  he  who  spoke 
them  was  so  often  right.  Men  talking  of  him  as  he  lin- 
gered, watching,  advising,  warning,  despite  dire  agony 
of  pain  and  drowsiness  of  morphia,  said  there  was  none 
like  him  for  clear  insight  into  the  very  heart  of  things. 

Yet  he,  as  he  lay  without  a  complaint,  was  telling  him- 
self he  had  been  blind.  He  had  sought  more  from  his 
world  than  there  was  in  it.  And  so,  though  the  news  of 
the  capture  of  the  Burn  Bastion  brought  a  brief  rally,  he 
sank  steadily. 

But  Hodson,  coming  into  his  tent  to  tell  him  of  the 
safe  capture  of  the  King  and  Queen  upon  the  21st  at 
Humayon's  Tomb,  found  him  eager  to  hear  all  particu- 
lars. So  eager,  that  when  the  Sirdars  of  the  Mooltanee 
Horse  (a  regiment  he  had  practically  raised),  who  sat  out- 
side in  dozens  waiting  for  every  breath  of  news  about 
their  fetish,  would  not  keep  quiet,  he  emphasized  his  third 
order  by  a  revolver  bullet  through  the  wall  of  the  tent. 
Greatly  to  their  delight  since,  as  they  retired  further  off, 
they  agreed  that  Nikalseyn  was  Xikalseyn  still:  and 
surely  death  dare  not  claim  one  so  full  of  life? 


REWARDS  AXD  PUNISHMENTS.  453 

Even  Hodson  smiled  in  the  swift  silence  in  which  the 
laboring  breath  of  the  dying  man  could  be  heard. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  went  on,  '"  as  I  was  saying,  I  got  per- 
mission, thanks  to  you,  to  utilize  my  information " 

"  You  mean  Rujjub  Ali's  and  that  sneak  Elahi 
Buksh's,  I  suppose,"  put  in  Nicholson.  "  It  w^as  sharp 
work.  The  King  only  went  to  Humayon's  Tomb  yester- 
day. They  must  have  had  it  all  cut  and  dried  before, 
surely?  " 

"  The  Queen  has  been  trying  to  surrender  on  terms 
some  time  back,  sir,"  replied  Hodson  hastily.  "  She  has 
a  lot  of  treasure — eight  lakhs,  the  spies  tell  me — and  is 
anxious  to  keep  it.  However,  to  go  on.  After  stop- 
ping with  Elahi  Buksh  that  night — no  doubt,  as  you  say, 
pressure  was  put  on  them  then — they  went  off,  as  agreed, 
to  meet  Bukht  Khan,  but  refused  to  go  with  him.  Of 
course  the  promise  of  their  lives " 

"  Then  you  were  negotiating  already?  "  * 

"  Not  exactly — but — but  I  couldn't  have  done  with- 
out the  promise  unless  Wilson  had  agreed  to  send  out 
troops,  and  he  wouldn't.  So  I  had  to  give  in,  though 
personally  I  would  a  deal  rather  have  brought  the  old 
man  in  dead,  than  alive.  Well,  I  set  off  this  morning 
with  fifty  of  my  horse  and  sent  in  the  two  messengers 
while  I  waited  outside.  It  was  nearly  two  hours  before 
they  came  back,  for  the  old  man  was  hard  to  move. 
Zeenut  Alaihl  was  the  screw,  and  when  Bahadur  Shah 
talked  of  his  ancestors  and  wept,  told  him  he  should  have 
thought  of  that  before  he  let  Bukht  Khan  and  the  army 
go.  In  fact  she  did  the  business  for  me;  but  she  stipu- 
lated for  a  promise  of  life  from  my  own  lips.  So  I  rode 
out  alone  to  the  causeway  by  the  big  gate — it  is  a  splen- 
did place,  sir;  more  like  a  mosque  than  a  tomb,  and 
drew  up  to  attention.  Zeenut  ^laihl  came  out  first, 
swinging  along  in  her  curtained  dhooli.  and  Rujjub,  who 
was  beside  me,  called  out  her  name  and  titles  decorously. 
I  couldn't  help  feeling  it  was  a  bit  of  a  scene,  you  know ; 

*  (Hodson  in  his  dian'  says  that  the  promise  was  virtually  given  two 
days  before  the  capture.  This  was  the  2rst.  It  must  therefore  have 
been  given  on  the  19th.  JMost  likely  in  Elahi  Buksh's  house.  If  so,  On 
Hodson's  own  authority.     Query.     Was  he  there  in  person  ?) 


454  ON   THE  FACE    OF    THE    WATERS. 

my  being  there,  alone,  and  all  that.  Then  the  King 
came  in  his  palkee;  so  I  rode  up,  and  demanded  his 
sword.  He  asked  if  I  were  Hodson-sahib  bahadur  and 
if  I  would  ratify  the  promise?  So  I  had  to  choke  over 
it.  for  there  were  two  or  three  thousand  of  a  crowd  by 
this  time.  Then  we  came  away.  It  was  a  long  live 
miles  at  a  footpace,  with  that  crowd  following  us  until 
we  neared  the  city.  Then  they  funked.  Besides  I  had 
said  openly  I'd  shoot  the  King  like  a  dog  despite  the 
promise  at  the  first  sign  of  rescue.  And  that's  all,  except 
that  you  should  have  seen  the  ofBcer's  face  at  the  Lahore 
gate  when  he  asked  me  what  I'd  got  in  tow,  and  I  said 
calmly,  '  Only  the   King  of  Delhi.'     So  that  is  done." 

*'  And  well  done,"  said  Nicholson  briefly,  reaching 
out  a  parched  right  hand.  "  Well  done,  from  the  begin- 
ning to  the  end." 

Hodson  flushed  up  like  a  girl.  "  I'm  glad  to  hear  you 
say  so,  sir,"  he  replied  as  nonchalantly  as  he  could,  "  but 
personally,  of  course,  I  would  rather  have  brought  him 
in  dead." 

Even  that  slight  action,  however,  had  left  Nicholson 
breathless,  and  the  only  comment  for  a  time  came  from 
his  eyes;  bright,  questioning  eyes,  seeking  now  with  a 
sort  of  pathetic  patience  to  grasp  the  world  they  were 
leaving,  and  make  allowances  for  all  shortcomings. 

"  And  now  for  the  Princes,"  said  Hodson.  "  Did  you 
write  to  Wilson,  sir?" 

Nicholson  nodded,  "  I  think  he'll  consent.  Only — 
only  don't  make  any  more  promises,  Hodson.  Some  of 
them  must  be  hung;  they  deserve  death." 

His  hearer  gave  rather  an  uneasy  look  at  the  clear 
eyes,  and  remarked  sharply:  "  You  thought  they  de- 
served more  than  hanging  once,  sir." 

The  old  imperious  frown  of  quick  displeasure  at  all 
challenge  came  to  John  Nicholson's  face,  then  faded  into 
a  half-smile.  "  I  was  not  so  near  death  myself.  It 
makes  a  difiference.  So  good-by,  Hodson.  I  mayn't 
see  you  again."  He  paused,  and  his  smile  grew  clearer, 
and  strangely  soft.  "  No  news,  I  suppose,  of  that  poor 
fellow  Douglas,  w'ho  didn't  agree  with  us?" 

"  None,  sir;  I  warned  him  it  was  useless  and  foolhardy 
to  go  back  when  my  information " 


REWARDS  AND  PUNISHMENTS.  455 

"  No  doubt,"  interrupted  the  dying  man  gently. 
"  Still,  I'd  have  gone  in  his  place."  He  lay  still  for  a 
moment,  then  murmured  to  himself.  "  So  he  is  on  the 
way  before  me.  Well !  I  don't  think  we  can  be  unhappy 
after  death.  And,  as  for  that  poor  lady — when  you  see 
her,  Hodson,  tell  her  I  am  sorry — sorry  she  hadn't  her 
chance."  The  last  words  were  once  more  murmured  to 
himself  and  ended  in  silence. 

Kate  Erlton,  however,  did  not  get  the  message  w^iich 
would,  perhaps,  have  ended  her  lingering  hope.  Major 
Hodson  was  too  busy  to  deliver  it.  Permission  to  cap- 
ture the  Princes  was  given  him  that  very  night,  and 
early  the  next  morning  he  set  ofif  to  Humayon's  Tomb 
once  more,  with  his  two  spies,  his  second  in  command, 
and  about  a  hundred  troopers.  A  small  party  indeed,  to 
face  the  four  or  five  thousand  Palace  refugees  who  were 
known  to  be  in  hiding  about  the  tomb,  waiting  to  see  if 
the  Princes  could  make  terms  like  the  King  had  done. 
But  Hodson's  orders  were  strict.  He  was  to  bring  in 
Mirza  Moghul  and  Khair  Sultan,  ex-Commanders-in- 
Chief,  and  Abool-Bukr,  heir  presumptive,  uncondition- 
ally, or  not  at  all. 

The  morning  was  deliciously  cool  and  crisp,  full 
of  that  promise  of  winter,  which  in  its  perfection  of 
climate  consoles  the  Punjabee  for  six  months  of  purga- 
tory. The  sun  sent  a  yellow  flood  of  light  over  the 
endless  ruins  of  ancient  Delhi,  which  here  extend  for 
miles  on  miles.  A  nasty  country  for  skulking  enemies ; 
but  Hodson's  pluck  and  dash  were  equal  to  anything, 
and  he  rode  along  with  a  heart  joyous  at  his  chance;  full 
of  determination  to  avail  himself  of  it  and  gain  renown. 

Someone  else,  however,  was  early  astir  on  this  the  22d 
of  September,  so  as  to  reach  Humayon's  Tomb  in  time 
to  press  on  to  the  Kutb,  if  needs  be.  This  was  the 
Princess  Farkhoonda  Zamani.  Ever  since  that  da}-, 
now  more  than  a  week  past,  w^hen  the  last  message  to 
the  city  had  warned  her  that  the  svipreme  moment  for 
the  House  of  Timoor  was  at  hand,  and  she  had  started 
from  her  study  of  Holy  Writ,  telling  herself  piteously 
that  she  must  find  Prince  Abool-Bukr — must,  at  all  sac- 
rifice to  pride,  seek  him,  since  he  would  not  seek  her — - 


456  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

must  warn  him  and  keep  his  hand  in  hers  again — she 
had  been  distracted  by  the  impossibihty  of  carrying  out 
her  decision.  For,  expecting  an  immediate  sack  of  the 
town,  the  ]Mufti's  people  had  barricaded  the  only  exit 
bazaar-ward,  and  when,  after  a  day  or  two,  she  did  suc- 
ceed in  creeping  out,  it  was  to  find  the  streets  unsafe,  the 
Palace  itself  closed  against  all.  But  now,  at  least,  there 
was  a  chance.  Like  all  the  royal  family,  she  knew  of 
these  two  spies,  Rujjub-Ali  and  ]\Iirza  Elahi  Buksh,  who 
was  saving  his  skin  by  turning  Queen's  evidence.  She 
knew  of  Hodson  sahib's  promise  to  the  King  and  Queen. 
She  knew  that  Abool-Bukr  was  still  in  hiding  with  the 
arch-offenders,  Mirza  Moghul  and  Khair  Sultan,  at 
Humayon's  Tomb.  Such  an  association  was  fatal;  but 
if  she  could  persuade  him  to  throw  over  his  uncles,  and 
go  with  her,  and  if,  afterward,  she  could  open  negotia- 
tions with  the  Englishmen,  and  prove  that  Abool-Bukr 
had  been  dismissed  from  office  on  the  very  day  of  the 
death  challenge,  had  been  in  disgrace  ever  since — had 
even  been  condemned  to  death  by  the  King;  surely  she 
might  yet  drag  her  dearest  from  the  net  into  which 
Zeenut  Maihl  had  lured  him — with  what  bait  she  scarcely 
trusted  herself  to  think!  The  first  thing  to  be  done, 
therefore,  was  to  persuade  Abool  to  come  with  her  to 
some  safer  hiding.  She  would  risk  all;  her  pride,  her 
reputation,  his  very  opinion  of  her,  for  this.  And  surely 
a  man  of  his  nature  was  to  be  tempted.  So  she  put  on 
her  finest  clothes,  her  discarded  jewels,  and  set  off  about 
noon  in  a  ruth — a  sort  of  curtain-dhoolie  on  wheels 
drawn  by  oxen,  gay  with  trappings,  and  set  with  jingling 
bells.  They  let  her  pass  at  the  Delhi  gate,  after  a  brief 
look  through  the  curtains,  during  which  she  cowered 
into  a  corner  without  covering  her  face,  lest  they  might 
think  her  a  man,  and  stop  her. 

''By  George!  that  was  a  pretty  woman,"  said  the 
English  subaltern  who  passed  her,  as  he  came  back  to  the 
guard-room.  "  Never  saw  such  eyes  in  my  life.  They 
w-ere  as  soft,  as  soft  as — well!  I  don't  know  what.  And 
they  looked,  somehow,  as  if  they  have  been  crying  for 
years,  and — and  as  if  they  saw — saw  something,  you 
know." 


REWARDS  AXD  P UX/S/I/MEA'TS.  457 

"  They  saw  you — you  sentimental  idiot — that's  enough 
to  make  any  woman  cry,"  retorted  his  companion.  And 
then  the  two,  mere  boys,  wild  with  success  and  high 
spirits,  fell  to  horse-play  over  the  insult. 

Yet  the  first  boy  was  right.  Newasi's  eyes  had  seen 
something  day  and  night,  night  and  day,  ever  since  they 
had  strained  into  the  darkness  after  Prince  Abool-Bukr 
when  he  broke  from  the  kind  detaining  hand  and  disap- 
peared from  the  Alufti's  quarter.  And  that  something 
was  a  flood  of  sunlight  holding  a  figure,  as  she  had  seen 
it  more  than  once,  in  a  wild  unreasoning  paroxysm  of 
sheer  terror.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  could  hear  those 
white  lips  gasping  once  more  over  the  cry  which  brought 
the  vision.  '*  Why  didst  not  let  me  live  mine  own  life, 
die  mine  own  death?  but  to  die — to  die  needlessly — to 
die  in  the  sunlight  perhaps." 

There  was  a  flood  of  it  now  outside  the  ruth  as  it  lum- 
bered along  by  the  jail,  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  yet  from 
the  city  gate.  Half-shivering  she  peeped  through  the 
gay  patchwork  curtains  to  assure  herself  it  held  no 
horror. 

God  and  his  Holy  Prophet !  What  was  that  crowd  on 
the  road  ahead?  No,  not  ahead,  she  was  in  it,  now,  so 
that  the  oxen  paused,  unable  to  go  on.  A  crowd,  a  clus- 
ter of  spear-points,  and  then,  against  the  jail  wall,  an 
open  space  round  another  ruth,  an  Englishman  on  foot, 
three  figures  stripped.  No ;  not  three !  only  two,  for  one 
had  fallen  as  the  crack  of  a  carbine  rang  through  the 
startled  air.  Two?  But  one,  now,  and  that,  oh!  saints 
have  mercy!  the  vision!  the  vision!  It  was  Abool, 
dodging  like  a  hare,  begging  for  bare  life;  seeking  it,  at 
last,  out  of  the  sunshine,  under  the  shadow  of  the  ruth 
wheels. 

"Abool!  Abool!"  she  screamed.  "I  am  here. 
Come!     I  am  here." 

Did  he  hear  the  kind  voice?  He  may  have,  for  it 
echoed  clear  before  the  third  and  final  crack  of  the  car- 
bine. So  clear  that  the  driver,  terrified  lest  it  should 
bring  like  punishment  on  him.  drove  his  goad  into  the 
oxen;  and  the  next  instant  they  were  careering  madly 
down    a    side    road,    bumping    over    watercourses    and 


458  OJV    THE   FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

ditches.  But  Newasi  felt  no  more  buffetings.  She  lay 
huddled  up  inside,  as  unconscious  as  that  other  figure 
which,  by  Major  Hodson's  orders,  was  being  dragged 
out  from  under  the  wheels  and  placed  upon  it  beside  the 
two  other  corpses  for  conveyance  to  the  city.  And  none 
of  all  the  crowd,  ready — so  the  tale  runs — to  rescue  the 
Princes  lest  death  should  be  their  portion  in  the  future, 
raised  voice  or  hand  to  avenge  them  now  that  it  had 
come  so  ruthlessly,  so  wantonly.  Perhaps  the  English 
guard  at  the  Delhi  gate  cowed  them,  as  it  had  cowed 
those  who  the  day  before  had  followed  the  King  so  far, 
then  slunk  away. 

So  the  little  cortege  moved  on  peacefully;  far  more 
peacefully  than  the  other  ruth,  which,  with  its  uncon- 
scious burden,  was  racing  Kutb-ward  as  if  it  was 
afraid  of  the  very  sunshine.  But  the  Princess  Far- 
khoonda,  huddled  up  in  all  her  jewels  and  fineries,  had 
forgotten  even  that;  forgotten  even  that  vision  seen  in  it. 

But  Hodson  as  he  rode  at  ease  behind  the  dead 
Princes  seemed  to  court  the  light.  He  gloried  in  the 
deed,  telling  himself  that  "  in  less  than  twenty-four  hours 
he  had  disposed  of  the  principal  members  of  the  House 
of  Timoor";  so  fulfilling  his  own  words  written  weeks 
before,  "  If  I  get  into  the  Palace,  the  House  of  Timoor 
will  not  be  worth  five  minutes'  purchase,  I  ween."  Tell- 
ing himself  also,  that  in  shooting  down  with  his  own 
hand  men  who  had  surrendered  without  stipulations  to 
his  generosity  and  clemency,  surrendered  to  a  hundred 
troopers  when  they  had  five  thousand  men  behind  them, 
lie  "  had  rid  the  earth  of  ruf^ans."  Telling  himself  that 
he  was  "  glad  to  have  had  the  opportunity,  and  was 
game  to  face  the  moral  risk  of  praise  or  blame." 

He  got  the  former  unstintingly  from  most  of  his  fel- 
lows as,  in  triumphant  procession,  the  bodies  were  taken 
to  the  chief  police  station,  there  to  be  exposed,  so  say 
eye-witnesses,  "  In  the  very  spot  where,  four  months 
before.  Englishwomen  had  been  outraged  and  murdered, 
in  the  very  place  where  their  helpless  victims  had  lain." 

A  strange  perversion  of  the  truth,  responsible,  per- 
haps, not  only  for  the  praise,  but  for  the  very  deed  itself; 
so  Mohamnied  Ismail's  barter  of  his  truth  and  soul  for 


REWARDS  AND   PUNISHMENTS.  459 

the  lives  of  the  forty  prisoners  at  the  Kohvab  counted 
for  nothing  in  the  judgment  of  this  world. 

But  Hodson  lacked  either  praise  or  blame  from  one 
man.  John  Nicholson  lay  too  near  the  judgment  of 
another  world  to  be  disturbed  by  vexed  questions  in  this ; 
and  when  the  next  morning  came,  men,  meeting  each 
other,  said  sadly,  "  He  is  dead." 

The  news,  brought  to  Kate  Erlton  by  Captain  More- 
combe  when  he  came  over  to  report  another  failure,  took 
the  heart  out  of  even  her  hope. 

"  There  is  no  use  in  my  staying  longer,  I'm  afraid," 
she  said  quietly.  "  I'm  only  in  the  way.  I  will  go  back 
to  Aleerut;  and  then  home — to  the  boy." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  best,"  he  replied  kindly.  "  I  can 
arrange  for  you  to  start  to-morrow  morning.  You  will 
be  the  better  for  a  change;  it  will  help  you  to  forget." 

She  smiled  a  little  bitterly;  but  when  he  had  gone  she 
set  to  work,  packing  up  such  of  her  husband's  things  as 
she  wished  the  boy  to  have  with  calm  deliberation;  and 
early  in  the  afternoon  went  over  to  the  garden  of  her 
old  house  to  get  some  fresh  flowers  for  what  would  be 
h€r  last  visit  to  that  rear-guard  of  graves.  To  take,  also, 
her  last  look  at  the  city,  and  watch  it  grow  mysterious  in 
the  glamour  of  sunset.  Seen  from  afar  it  seemed  un- 
changed. A  mass  of  rosy  light  and  lilac  shadow,  with 
the  great  white  dome  of  the  mosque  hanging  airily  above 
the  smoke  wreaths. 

Yet  the  end  had  come  to  its  four  months'  dream  as  it 
had  come  to  hers.  Rebellion  would  linger  long,  but  its 
stronghold,  its  very  ra'xson  d'etre,  was  gone.  And 
Memory  would  last  longer  still;  yet  surely  it  would  not 
be  all  bitter.  Hers  was  not.  Then  with  a  rush  of  real 
regret  she  thought  of  the  peaceful  roof,  of  old  Tiddu,  of 
the  Princess  Farkhoonda — Tara — Soma — of  Sri  Anunda 
in  his  garden.  Was  she  to  go  home  to  safe,  snug  Eng- 
land, live  in  a  suburb,  and  forget?  Forget  all  but  the 
tragedy!  Yet  even  that  held  beautiful  memories.  Alice 
Gissing  under  young  Mainwaring's  scarf,  while  he  lay  at 
her  feet.  Her  husband  leaving  a  good  name  to  his  son. 
Did  not  these  things  help  to  make  the  story  perfect?  No! 
not  perfect.     And  with  the  remembrance  her  eyes  filled 


460  ON    THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

with  sudden  tears.  There  would  ahvays  be  a  blank  for 
her  in  the  record.  The  Spirit  which  had  moved  on  the 
Face  of  the  Waters,  bringing  their  chance  of  Healing  and 
Atonement  to  so  many,  had  left  hers  in  the  shadow.  She 
had  learned  her  lesson.  Ah!  yes;  she  had  learned  it. 
But  the  chance  of  using  it? 

As  she  sat  on  the  plinth  of  the  ruined  veranda,  watch- 
ing the  city  growing  dim  through  the  mist  of  her  tears, 
John  Nicholson's  words  came  back  to  her  once  more, 
"  If  ever  you  have  the  chance  ";  but  it  would  never  come 
now — never ! 

She  started  up  wdldly  at  the  clutch  of  a  brown  hand 
on  her  wrist — a  brown  hand  with  a  circlet  of  dead  gold 
above  it. 

"  Come!  "  said  a  voice  behind  her;  "  come  quick!  he 
needs  you." 

"  Tara!  "  she  gasped — "  Tara!     Is — is  he  alive  then?  " 

"  He  W'Ould  not  need  the  mem  if  he  were  dead,"  came 
the  swift  reply.  Then  with  her  wild  eyes  fixed  on 
another  gold  circlet  upon  the  wrist  she  held,  Tara  laughed 
shrilly.  "  So  the  mem  wears  it  still.  She  has  not  for- 
gotten. Women  do  not  forget,  white  or  black  " — with 
a  strange  stamp  of  her  foot  she  interrupted  herself 
fiercely — "come,  I  say,  come!" 

If  there  had  been  doubts  as  to  the  Rajpootni's 
sanity  at  times  in  past  days,  there  was  none  now.  A 
glance  at  her  face  was  sufficient.  It  was  utterly  dis- 
traught, the  clutch  on  Kate's  arm  utterly  uncontrolled; 
so  that,  involuntarily,  the  latter  shrank  back. 

"  The  mem  is  afraid,"  cried  Tara  exultantly.  "  So  be 
it!  I  will  go  back  and  tell  the  master.  Tell  him  I  was 
right  and  he  wrong,  lor  all  the  English  he  chattered.  I 
w'ill  tell  him  the  mem  is  not  suttee — how  could  she 
be " 

The  old  taunt  roused  many  memories,  and  made  Kate 
ready  to  risk  anything.  "  I  am  coming,  Tara — but 
where?  "  She  stood  facing  the  tall  figure  in  crimson, 
a  tall  figure  also,  in  white,  her  hands  full  of  the  roses 
she  had  gathered. 

Tara  looked  at  her  with  that  old  mingling  of  regret  and 


REWARDS  AXD   PUNISHMENTS.  46 1 

approbation,  jealousy  and  pride.  "  Then  she  must  come 
at  once.     He  is  dying — may  be  dead  ere  we  get  back." 

"  Dead!  "  echoed  Kate  faintly.  '*  Is  he  wounded 
then?" 

A  sort  of  somber  sullenness  dulled  the  excitement  of 
Tara's  face.  "  He  is  ill,"  she  replied  laconically.  Sud- 
denly, however,  she  burst  out  again:  "  The  mem  need  not 
look  so!  I  have  done  all — all  she  coul4  have  done.  It 
is  his  fault.  He  will  not  take  things.  The  mem  can 
do  no  more;  but  I  have  come  to  her,  so  that  none  shall 
say,  '  Tara  killed  the  master.'     So  come.     Come  quick!  " 

Five  minutes  after  Kate  was  swinging  cityward  in  a 
curtained  dhooli  which  Tara  had  left  waiting  on  the  road 
below,  and  trying  to  piece  out  a  consecutive  story  from 
the  odd  jumble  of  facts  and  fancies  and  explanations 
which  Tara  poured  into  her  ear  between  her  swift  abuse 
of  the  bearers  for  not  going  faster,  and  her  assertion  that 
there  was  no  need  to  hurry.  The  mem  need  not  hope 
to  save  the  Huzoor,  since  everything  had  been  done.  It 
seemed,  however,  that  Tiddu  had  taken  back  the  letter 
telling  of  Kate's  safety,  and  that  in  consequence  of  this 
the  master  had  arranged  to  leave  the  city  in  a  day  or  two, 
and  Tiddu — born  liar  and  gold  grubber,  so  the  Rajpootni 
styled  him — had  gone  off  at  once  to  make  more  money. 
But  on  the  very  eve  of  his  going  back  to  the  Ridge,  Jim 
Douglas  had  been  struck  down  with  the  Great  Sickness, 
and  after  two  or  three  days,  instead  of  getting  better, 
had  fallen — as  Tara  put  it — into  the  old  way.  So  far 
Kate  made  out  clearly;  but  from  this  point  it  became 
difficult  to  understand  the  reproaches,  excuses,  pathetic 
assertions  of  helplessness,  and  fierce  declarations  that  no 
one  could  have  done  more.  But  what  was  the  use  of  the 
Huzoor's  talking  English  all  night?  she  said;  even  a  sut- 
tee could  not  go  out  when  everyone  was  being  shot  in  the 
streets.  Besides,  it  was  all  obstinacy.  The  master  could 
have  got  well  if  he  had  tried.  And  who  was  to  know 
where  to  find  the  mem?  Indeed,  if  it  had  not  been  for  Sri 
Anunda's  gardener,  who  knew  all  the  gardener  folk,  of 
course,  she  would  not  have  found  the  mem  even  now; 
for  she  would  never  have  known  which  house  to  inquire 


462  ON   THE  FACE   OF    THE    WATERS. 

at.  Not  that  it  would  have  mattered,  since  the  mem 
could  do  nothing — nothing — nothing 

Kate,  looking  down  on  the  bunch  of  white  flowers 
which  she  had  literally  been  too  hurried  to  think  of  lay- 
ing aside,  felt  her  heart  shrink.  They  were  rather  a  fate- 
ful gift  to  be  in  her  hands  now.  Had  they  come  there  of 
set  purpose,  and  would  the  man  who  had  done  so  much 
for  her  be  beyond  all  care  save  those  pitiful  offices  of  the 
dead?  Still,  even  that  w^as  better  than  that  he  should  lie 
alone,  untended.  So,  urged  by  Tara's  vehement  upbraid- 
ings,  the  dhooli-bearers  lurched  along,  to  stop  at  last.  It 
seemed  to  Kate  as  if  her  heart  stopped  also.  She  could 
not  think  of  what  might  lie  before  her  as  she  followed 
Tara  up  the  dark,  strangely  familiar  stair.  Surely,  she 
thought,  she  would  have  known  it  among  a  thousand. 
And  there  was  the  step  on  which  she  had  once  crouched 
terror-stricken,  because  she  was  shut  out  from  shel- 
ter within.  But  now  Tara's  fingers  were  at  the  padlock, 
Tara's  hand  set  the  door  wide. 

Kate  paused  on  the  threshold,  feeling,  in  truth,  dazed 
once  more  at  the  strange  familiarity  of  all  things.  It 
seemed  to  her  as  if  she  had  but  just  left  that  strip  of  roof 
aglow  with  the  setting  sun,  the  bubble  dome  of  the 
mosque  beginning  to  flush  like  a  cloud  upon  the  sky. 
But  Tara,  watching  her  with  resentful  eyes,  put  a  differ- 
ent interpretation  on  the  pause,  and  said  quickly: 

"  He  is  within.  The  mem  was  away,  and  it  was 
quieter.  But  the  rest  is  all  the  same — there  is  nothing 
forgotten — nothing." 

Kate,  however,  heard  only  the  first  words,  and  was 
already  across  the  outer  roof  to  gain  the  inner  one.  Tara, 
still  beyond  the  threshold,  watched  her  disappear,  then 
stood  listening  for  a  minute,  with  a  face  tragic  in  its  in- 
tensity. Suddenly  a  faint  voice  broke  the  silence,  and  her 
hands,  which  had  been  tightly  clenched,  relaxed.  She 
closed  the  door  silently,  and  went  downstairs. 

Meanwhile  Kate,  on  the  inner  roof,  had  paused  beside 
the  low  string  bed  set  in  its  middle,  scarcely  daring  to 
look  at  its  burden,  and  so  put  hope  and  fear  to  the  touch- 
stone of  truth.  But  as  she  stood  hesitating,  a  voice, 
querulous  in  its  extreme  weakness,  said  in  Hindustani: 


REWARDS  AND  PUNISHMENTS.  463 

"It  is  too  soon,  Tara;  I  don't  want  anything;  and — 
and  you  needn't  wait — thank  you." 

He  lay  with  his  face  turned  from  her,  so  she  could 
stand,  wondering  how  best  to  break  her  presence  to  him, 
noting  with  a  failing  heart  the  curious  slackness,  the  lack 
of  contour  even  on  that  hard  string  bed.  He  seemed 
lost,  sunk  in  it;  and  she  had  seen  that  sign  so  often  of  late 
that  she  knew  what  it  meant.  One  thing  was  certain, 
he  must  have  food — stimulants  if  possible — before  she 
startled  him.  So  she  stole  back  to  the  outer  roof,  ex- 
pecting to  find  Tara  there,  and  Tara's  help.  But  the  roof 
lay  empty,  and  a  sudden  fear  lest,  after  all,  she  had  only 
come  to  see  him  die,  while  she  was  powerless  to  fight  that 
death  from  sheer  exhaustion,  which  seemed  so  perilously 
near,  made  her  put  down  the  bunch  of  flowers  she  held 
wnth  an  impatient  gesture.  What  a  fool  she  had  been 
not  to  think  of  other  things! 

But  as  she  glanced  round,  her  eye  fell  on  a  familiar 
earthenware  basin  kept  warm  in  a  pan  of  water  over  the 
ashes.  It  was  full  of  cJiikkcii-braf,  and  excellent  of  its 
kind,  too.  Then  in  a  niche  stood  milk  and  eggs — a  bot- 
tle of  brandy,  arrow-root — everything  a  nurse  could 
wish  for.  And  in  another,  evidently  in  case  the  brew 
should  be  condemned,  w'as  a  fresh  chicken  ready  for  use. 
Strange  sights  these  to  bring  tears  of  pity  to  a  woman's 
eyes ;  but  they  did.  For  Kate,  reading  between  the  lines 
of  poor  Tara's  confusion,  began  to  understand  the 
tragedy  underlying  those  words  she  had  just  heard: 

"  I  don't  w^ant  anything,  Tara.  And  you  needn't  wait, 
thank  you."  She  seemed  to  see,  with  a  flash,  the  long, 
long  days  which  had  passed,  with  that  patient,  polite 
negative  coming  to  chill  the  half  distraught  devotion. 

He  must  take  something  now,  for  all  that.  So,  armed 
w'ith  a  cup  and  spoon,  she  went  back,  going  round  the 
bed  so  that  he  could  see  her. 

"  It  is  time  for  your  food,  Mr.  Grevman,"  she  said 
quietly;  "  when  you  have  taken  some,  I'll  tell  you  every- 
thing. Only  you  must  take  this  first."  As  she  slipped 
her  hand  under  him,  pillow  and  all,  to  raise  his  head 
slightly,  she  could  see  the  pained,  puzzled  expression 


464  ON   THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

narrow  his  e>es  as  he  swallowed  a  spoonful.  Then  with 
a  frown  he  turned  his  head  from  her  impatiently. 

"You  must  take  three,"  she  insisted;  "you  must, 
indeed,  Mr,  Greyman.  Then  I  will  tell  you — every- 
thing." 

His  face  came  back  to  hers  with  the  faintest  shadow 
of  his  old  mutinous  sarcasm  upon  it,  and  he  lay  looking 
at  her  deliberately  for  a  second  or  two.  "  I  thought  you 
were  a  ghost,"  he  said  feebly  at  last;  "only  they  don't 
bully.     Well!  let's  get  it  over." 

The  memory  of  many  such  a  bantering  reply  to  her 
insistence  in  the  past  sent  a  lump  to  her  throat  and  kept 
her  silent.  The  little  low  stool  on  which  she  had  been 
wont  to  sit  beside  him  was  in  its  old  place,  and  half- 
mechanically  she  drew  it  closer,  and,  resting  her  elbow 
on  the  bed  as  she  used  to  do,  looked  round  her,  feeling 
as  if  the  last  six  weeks  were  a  dream.  Tara  had  told 
truth.  Everything  was  in  its  place.  There  were  flowers 
in  a  glass,  a  spotless  fringed  cloth  on  the  brass  platter. 
The  pity  held  in  these  trivial  signs  brought  a  fresh  pang 
to  her  heart  for  that  other  woman. 

But  Jim  Douglas,  lying  almost  in  the  arms  of  death, 
was  not  thinking  of  such  things. 

"  Then  Delhi  must  have  fallen,"  he  said  suddenly  in 
a  stronger  voice.     "  Did  Nicholson  take  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  quietly,  thinking  it  best  to  be  con- 
cise and  give  him,  as  it  were,  a  fresh  grip  on  facts.  "  It 
has  fallen.  The  King  is  a  prisoner,  the  Princes  have 
been  shot,  and  most  of  the  troops  move  on  to-morrow 
toward  Agra." 

It  epitomized  the  situation  beyond  the  possibility  of 
doubt,  and  he  gave  a  faint  sigh.  "  Then  it  is  all  over. 
I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  Tara  never  knew  anything;  and  it 
seemed  so  long." 

Had  she  known  and  refused  to  tell,  Kate  wondered? 
or  in  her  insane  absorption  had  she  really  thought  of 
nothing  but  the  chance  Fate  had  thrown  in  her  way 
of  saving  this  man's  life?  Yes!  it  must  have  been  very 
long.  Kate  realized  this  as  she  watched  the  spent  and 
weary  face  before  her,  its  bright,  hollow  eyes  fixed  on 
the  glow  which  was  now  fast  fading  from  the  dome. 


REWARDS  AND  PUNISHMENTS.  4^5 

"All  over!"  he  murmured  to  himself.  "Well!  I  sup- 
pose it  couldn't  be  helped." 

She  followed  his  thought  unerringly;  and  a  great  pity 
for  this  man  who  had  done  nothing,  where  others  had 
done  so  much,  surged  up  in  her  and  made  her  seek  to 
show  his  fate  no  worse  than  others.  Besides,  this  dis- 
couragement was  fatal,  for  it  pointed  to  a  lack  of  that 
desire  for  life  which  is  the  best  weapon  against  death. 
She  might  fail  to  rouse  him.  as  those  had  failed  who,  but 
a  day  or  two  before,  had  sent  a  bit  of  red  ribbon  repre- 
senting the  Victoria  Cross  to  the  dying  Salkeld — the 
hero  of  the  Cashmere  gate — and  only  gained  in  reply  a 
faint  smile  and  the  words,  "  They  will  like  it  at  home." 
Still  she  would  tr}-. 

"Yes,  it  is  over!"  she  echoed,  "and  it  has  cost  so 
many  lives  uselessly.  General  Nicholson  lost  his  trying 
to  do  the  impossible — so  people  say." 
•  Jim  Douglas  still  lay  staring  at  the  fading  glow. 
"  Dead!  "  he  murmured.  "  That  is  a  pity.  But  he  took 
Delhi  first.     He  said  he  would." 

"  And  my  husband "  she  began. 

He  turned  then,  with  curiously  patient  courtesy.  "  I 
know.  Nicholson  wrote  that  in  his  letter.  And  I  have 
been  glad — glad  he  had  his  chance,  and — and — made  so 
much  of  it." 

Once  more  she  followed  his  thought;  knew  that, 
though  he  was  too  proud  to  confess  it,  he  was  saying  to 
himself  that  he  had  had  his  chance  too  and  had  done 
nothing.     So  she  answered  it  as  if  he  had  spoken. 

"  And  you  had  your  chance  of  saving  a  woman,"  she 
said,  w'ith  a  break  in  her  voice,  "  and  you  saved  her.  It 
isn't  much,   I   suppose.     It  counts  as  nothing  to  you. 

Why  should  it?     But  to  me "     She  broke  ofif,  losing 

her  purpose  for  him  in  her  ow'n  bitter  regret  and  vague 
resentment.  "  W^hy  didn't  you  let  them  kill  me,  and 
then  go  away?"  she  went  on  almost  passionately.  "  It 
would  have  been  better  than  saving  me  to  remember 
always  that  I  stood  in  your  way — better  than  giving  me 
no  chance  of  repaying  you  for  all — ah !  think  how  much ! 
Better  than  leaving  me  alone  to  a  new  life — like — like  all 
the  others  have  done." 


466  ON   THE   FACE    OF   THE    WATERS. 

She  buried  her  face  on  her  arm  as  it  rested  on  the 
pillow  with  a  sob.  This,  then,  was  the  end,  she  thought, 
this  bitter  unavailing  regret  for  both. 

So  for  a  space  there  was  silence  while  she  sat  with  her 
face  hidden,  and  he  lay  staring  at  that  darkening  dome. 
But  suddenly  she  felt  his  hot  hand  find  hers;  so  thin,  so 
soft,  so  curiously  strong  still  in  its  grip. 

"  Give  me  some  more  wine  or  something,"  came  his 
voice  consolingly.     "  I'll  try  and  stop — if  I  can." 

She  made  an  efifort  to  smile  back  at  him,  but  it  was  not 
very  successful.  His,  as  she  fed  him,  was  better;  but  it 
did  not  help  Kate  Erlton  to  cheerfulness,  for  it  was 
accompanied  by  a  murmur  that  the  chikken-brdt  was  very 
different  from  Tara's  stufY.  So  she  seemed  to  see  a  poor 
ghost  glowering  at  them  from  the  shadows,  asking  her 
how  she  dared  take  all  the  thanks.  And  the  ghost  re- 
mained long  after  Jim  Douglas  had  dozed  ofT;  remained 
to  ask,  so  it  seemed  to  Kate  Erlton,  every  question  tha't 
could  be  asked  about  the  mystery  of  womanhood  and 
manhood. 

But  Tara  herself  asked  none  when  in  the  first  gray 
glimmer  of  dawn  she  crept  up  the  stairs  again  and  stood 
beside  the  sleepers.  For  Kate,  wearied  out,  had  fallen 
asleep  crouched  up  on  the  stool,  her  head  resting  on  the 
pillow,  her  arm  flung  over  the  bed  to  keep  that  touch  on 
his  hand  which  seemed  to  bring  him  rest.  Tara,  once 
more  in  her  widow's  dress,  looked  down  on  them  silently, 
then  threw  her  bare  arms  upward.  So  for  a  second  she 
stood,  a  white-shrouded  appealing  figure  against  that 
dark  shadow  of  the  dome  which  blocked  the  paling 
eastern  sky.  Then  stooping,  her  long,  lissome  fingers 
busied  themselves  stealthily  with  the  thin  gold  chain 
about  the  sick  man's  neck;  for  there  was  something  in 
the  locket  attached  to  it  which  was  hers  by  right  now. 
Hers,  if  she  could  have  nothing  else;  for  she  was  suttee — 
suttee! 

The  unuttered  cry  was  surging  through  her  heart 
and  brain,  rousing  a  mad  exultation  in  her,  when  half 
an  hour  afterward  she  re-entered  the  narrow  lane  lead- 
ing to  the  arcaded  courtyard  with  the  black  old  shrine 


J? E WARDS  AND  PUNISHMENTS.  467 

hiding  under  the  tall  peepul  tree.  And  what  was  that 
hanging  over  the  congeries  of  roofs  and  stairs,  the 
rabbit  warren  of  rooms  and  passages  where  her  pigeon- 
nest  was  perched?  A  canopy  of  smoke,  and  below  ic 
leaping  flames.  There  were  many  wanton  fires  in  Delhi 
during  those  first  few  days  of  license,  and  this  was  one  of 
them;  but  already,  in  the  dawn,  English  officers  were  at 
work  giving  orders,  limiting  the  danger  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. 

"  We  can't  save  that  top  bit,"  said  one  at  last,  then 
turned  to  one  of  his  fatigue  party.  "  Have  you  cleared 
everybody  out,  sergeant,  as  I  told  you?" 

"  Yes,  sir!  it's  quite  empty." 

It  had  been  so  five  minutes  before.  It  was  not  now; 
for  that  canopy  of  smoke,  those  licking  tongues  of  flame, 
had  given  the  last  touch  to  Tara's  unstable  mind.  She 
had  crept  up  and  up,  blindly,  and  was  now  on  her  knees 
in  that  bare  room  set  round  with  her  one  scrap  of  culture, 
ransacking  an  old  basket  for  something  which  had  not 
seen  the  light  for  years,  her  scarlet  tinsel-set  wedding 
dress.  Her  hands  were  trembling,  her  wild  eyes  blazed 
like  fires  themselves. 

And  below,  men  waited  calmly  for  the  flames  ^o  claim 
this,  their  last  prize;  for  the  turret  stood  separated  from 
the  next  house. 

"My  God!"  came  an  English  voice,  as  something 
showed  suddenly  upon  the  roof,  "  I  thought  you  said 
it  was  empt}' — and  that's  a  woman!" 

It  was.  A  woman  in  a  scarlet,  tinsel-set  dress,  and  all 
the  poor  ornaments  she  possessed  upon  her  widespread 
arms.  So,  outlined  against  the  first  sun-ray  she  stood, 
her  shrill  chanting  voice  rising  above  the  roar  and  rush 
of  the  flames. 

"Oh!  Guardians  eight,  of  this  world  and  the  next. 
Sun,  Moon,  and  Air,  Earth,  Ether,  Water,  and  my  own 
poor  soul  bear  witness!  Oh!  Lord  of  death,  bear  wit- 
ness that  I  come.  Day,  Night,  and  Twilight  say  I  am 
suttee." 

There  was  a  louder  roar,  a  sudden  leaping  of  the 
flames,  and  the  turret  sank  inwardly.     But  the  chanting 


468  ON    THE  FACE   OF   THE    WATERS. 

voice  could  be  heard  for  a  second  in  the  increasing 
silence  which  followed. 

"  Shive-jee  hath  saved  His  own,"  said  the  crowd,  look- 
ing toward  the  unharmed  shrine. 

And  over  on  the  other  side  of  the  city,  Kate  Erlton, 
roused  by  that  same  first  ray  of  sunlight,  was  looking 
down  with  a  smile  upon  Jim  Douglas  before  waking  him. 
The  sky  was  clear  as  a  topaz,  the  purple  pigeons  were 
cooing  and  sidling  on  the  copings.  And  in  the  bright, 
fresh  light  she  saw  the  gold  locket  lying  open  on  the 
sleeper's  breast.  She  had  often  wondered  what  it  held, 
and  now — thinking  he  might  not  care  to  find  it  at  her 
mercy — stooped  to  close  it. 

But  it  was  empty. 

The  snap,  slight  as  it  was,  roused  him.  Not,  however, 
to  a  knowledge  of  the  cause,  for  he  lay  looking  up  at  her 
in  his  turn. 

"  So  it  is  all  over,"  he  said  softly,  but  he  said  it  with  a 
smile. 

Yes!  It  was  all  over.  Down  on  the  parade  ground 
behind  the  Ridge  the  bugles  were  sounding,  and  the  men 
who  had  clung  to  the  red  rocks  for  so  long  were  prepar- 
ing to  leave  them  for  assault  elsewhere. 

But  one  man  was  taking  an  eternal  hold  upon  them; 
for  John  Nicholson  was  being  laid  in  his  grave.  Not  in 
the  rear-guard,  however,  but  in  the  van,  on  the  outer- 
most spur  of  the  Ridge  abutting  on  the  city  wall,  within 
touch  almost  of  the  Cashmere  gate.  Being  laid  in  his 
grave — by  his  own  request — without  escort,  without 
salute;  for  he  knew  that  he  had  failed. 

So  he  lies  there  facing  the  city  he  took.  But  his  real 
grave  was  in  that  narrow  lane  within  the  walls  where 
those  who  dream  can  see  him  still,  alone,  ahead,  with 
yards  of  sheer  sunlight  between  him  and  his  fellow-men. 

Yards  of  sheer  sunlight  between  that  face  with  its 
confident  glance  forward,  that  voice  with  its  clear  cry, 
"Come  on,  men!  Come  on!"  and  those — the  mass  of 
men — who  with  timorous  look  backward  hear  in  that 
call  to  go  forward  nothing  but  the  vain  regret  for  things 
familiar  that  must  be  left  behind.  "  Going!  Going! 
Gone! "  * 


REWARDS  AND   PUNISHMENTS.  469 

So,  in  a  way,  John  Nicholson  stands  symbol  of  the 
many  lives  lost  uselessly  in  the  vain  attempt  to  go  for- 
ward too  fast. 

Yet  his  voice  echoed  still  to  the  dark  faces  and  the 
light  alike: 

"  Come  on,  men!     Come  on!  " 


BOOK  VL 


APPENDIX   A. 

From  A.  Dashe,  Collector  and  Magistrate  of  Kicjabpore,  to 
R.  Tape,  Esq.,  Commissioner  and  Superintendent  of 
Kwdbabad. 

Fol.  No.  O. 

Dated  nth  May,  1858. 

Sir:  In  reply  to  your  No.  103  of  the  20th  April  requesting-  me 
to  report  on  the  course  of  the  Mutiny  in  my  district,  the  measures 
taken  to  suppress  it,  and  its  effects,  if  any,  on  the  judicial,  execu- 
tive, and  financial  work  under  my  charge,  I  have  the  honor  to 
inclose  a  brief  statement,  which  for  convenience'  sake  I  have 
drafted  under  the  usual  headings  of  the  annual  report  which  I  was 
unable  to  send  in  till  last  week.  I  regret  the  delay,  but  the  pres- 
sure of  work  in  the  English  office  due  to  the  revising  of  forfeiture 
and  pension  lists  made  it  unavoidable. 

I  have  the  honor,  etc.,  etc., 

A.  Dashe,  Coll.  and  Magte. 

Introductory  Remarks. "^ — So  far  as  my  district  is  concerned, 
the  late  disturbances  have  simply  been  a  military  mutiny.  At  no 
time  could  they  be  truthfully  called  a  rebellion.  In  the  outlying 
posts,  indeed,  the  people  knew  little  or  nothing  of  what  was  going 
on  around  them,  and  even  in  the  towns  resistance  was  not  thought 
of  until  the  prospect  of  any  immediate  suppression  of  the  mutiny 
disappeared. 

The  small  force  of  soldiers  in  my  district  of  course  followed 
the  example  of  their  brethren.  Nothing  else  could  be  expected 
from  our  position  midway  between  two  large  cantonments ; 
indeed  the  continuous  stream  of  mutinous  troops  which  passed 
up  and  down  the  main  road  during  the  summer  had  a  decidedly 
bad  effect. 

I  commenced  to  disperse  the  disturbers  of  the  public  peace  on 

*  Every  statement  in  this  supposed  report  has  been  gleaned  from  a 
real  one,  or  from  official  papers  published  at  the  time.  I  am  responsible 
for  nothing  but  occasionally  the  wording. 


APPEXDIX  A.  471 

tlie  2 1  St  May.  These  were  largely  escaped  felons  from  the  Meerut 
jail  ;  and  the  fact  that  they  were  quite  indiscriminate  in  their  law- 
lessness enabled  me  to  rally  most  of  the  well-doing  people  on  my 
side.  I  hanged  a  few  of  the  offenders,  and  having  enlisted  a  small 
corps  with  the  aid  of  some  native  gentlemen  (whose  names  I 
append  for  reference),  sent  it  out  under  charge  of  my  assistant 
(I  myself  being  forced  throughout  the  whole  business  to  remain 
at  headquarters  and  keep  a  grip  on  things)  to  put  down  some 
Goojurs  and  other  predatory  tribes  who  took  occasion  to  resort  to 
their  ancestral  habits  of  life. 

No  real  opposition,  however,  was  ever  met  with  ;  but  in  June 
(after  our  failure  to  take  Delhi  by  a  coicp  de  main  became  known) 
there  was  an  organized  attempt  to  seize  the  Treasury.  Fortu- 
nately I  had  some  twenty  or  thirty  of  my  new  levy  in  headquarters 
at  the  time,  so  that  the  attempt  failed,  and  I  was  able  to  bring  one 
or  two  of  the  ringleaders  (one,  I  regret  to  say,  a  man  of  consider- 
able importance  in  my  district)  to  justice. 

I  subsequently  made  several  applications  to  the  nearest  canton- 
ment for  a  few  European  soldiers  to  escort  my  treasure — some  two 
lakhs — to  safer  quarters.  But  this,  unfortunately,  could  not  be 
granted  to  me,  so  I  had  to  keep  a  strong  guard  of  men  over  the 
money  who  might  have  been  more  useful  elsewhere. 

Until  the  fall  of  Delhi  matters  remained  much  the  same.  Iso- 
lated bands  of  marauders  ravaged  portions  of  my  district,  often,  I 
regret  to  say,  escaping  before  punishment  could  be  meted  out  to 
them.  The  general  feeling  was  one  of  disquiet  and  alarm  to  both 
Europeans  and  natives.  My  table  attendant,  for  instance,  absented 
himself  from  dinner  one  day,  sending  a  substitute  to  do  his  work, 
under  the  belief  that  I  had  given  orders  for  a  general  slaughter  of 
Mohammedans  that  evening.     I  had  done  nothing  of  the  kind. 

After  the  fall  of  Delhi,  as  you  are  aware,  the  mutinous  fugitives, 
some  fifty  or  sixty  thousand  strong,  marched  southward  in  a  com- 
pact body  and  caused  much  alarm.  But  after  camping  on  the 
outskirts  of  my  district  for  a  few  days,  they  suddenly  disappeared. 
I  am  told  they  dispersed  during  one  night,  each  to  his  own  home. 
Anyhow  they  literally  melted  away,  and  the  public  mind  seemed 
to  become  aware  that  the  contest  was  over,  and  that  the  struggle 
to  subvert  British  rule  had  ignominiously  failed.  Matters  there- 
fore assumed  a  normal  aspect,  but  I  believe  that  there  is  more 
shame,  sorrow,  and  regret  in  the  hearts  of  many  than  we  shall 
probably  ever  have  full  cognizance  of,  and  that  it  will  take  years 
for  the  one  race  to  regain  its  confidence,  the  other  its  self-respect. 

Civil  Judicature. — The  courts  were  temporarily  suspended  for 
a  week  or  two  ;  after  that  original  work  went  on  much  as  usual,  but 
the  appellate  work  suffered.  There  was  an  indisposition  both  to 
institute  and  hear  appeals,  possibly  due  to  the  total  eclipse  of  the 
higher  appellate  courts.     I  myself  iiad  little  leisure  for  civil  cases. 


472  APPEiYDTX  A. 

Criminal  Ju-tice. — There  has  been  far  less  crime  than  usual 
during  the  past  year.  Possibly  because  much  of  it  had  necessarily 
to  be  treated  summarily  and  so  did  not  come  on  the  record.  \  am 
inclined  to  believe,  however,  that  petty  offenses  really  are  fewer 
when  serious  crime  is  being  properly  dealt  with. 

Police. — The  less  said  about  the  behavior  of  the  police  the 
better.  The  force  simply  melted  away ;  but  as  it  was  always  in- 
efficient its  absence  had  little  effect,  save,  perhaps,  in  a  failure  to 
bring  up  those  trivial  offenses  mentioned  in  the  last  para. 

Jails. — The  jail  was  happily  preserved  throughout ;  for  the 
addition  of  four  or  five  hundred  felons  to  the  bad  characters  of  my 
district  might  have  complicated  matters.  I  was  peculiarly  fortu- 
nate in  this,  since  I  learn  that  only  nine  out  of  the  forty-three  jails 
in  the  Province  were  so  held. 

Revenue  {Sub-kead,  Lafid). — The  arrears  under  this  head  are 
less  than  usual,  and  there  seems  no  reason  to  apprehend  serious 
loss  to  Government. 

{Opium). — There  has,  I  regret  to  say,  been  considerable  detri- 
ment to  our  revenue  under  this  head,  due  to  the  fact  that  the 
smuggling  of  the  drug  is  extremely  easy,  owing  to  its  small  bulk, 
and  that  the  demand  was  greater  than  usual. 

{Stamps).— The  revenue  here  shows  an  increase  of  Rs.  72,000. 
I  am  unable  to  account  for  this,  unless  the  prevailing  uncertainty 
made  the  public  mind  incline  toward  what  security  it  could  com- 
pass in  the  matter  of  bonds,  agreements,  etc. 

{Salt  and  Customs). — This  department  shows  a  very  creditable 
record.  My  subordinates,  with  the  help  of  a  few  volunteers,  were 
able  to  maintain  the  Customs  line  throughout  the  whole  disturb- 
ances. Its  value  as  a  preventative  of  roving  lawlessness  cannot  be 
over-estimated.  Four  hundred  and  eighty-two  smugglers  were 
punished,  and  the  Customs  brought  in  Rs.  33,770  more  than  in 
'56.  But  the  work  done  by  this  handful  of  isolated  European 
patrols,  with  only  a  few  natives  under  them,  to  the  cause  of  law 
and  order,  cannot  be  estimated  in  money. 

Education. — The  higher  education  went  on  as  usual.  Primary 
instruction  suffered.     Female  schools  disappeared  altogether. 

Ptiblic  Works. — Many  things  combined  to  stop  anything  like  a 
vigorous  prosecution  of  new  public  works,  and  those  in  hand  were 
greatly  retarded, 


APPENDIX  A.  473 

Post-Office. — The  work  in  this  department  suffered  occasional 
lapses  owing  to  the  murder  of  solitary  runners  by  lawless  ruffians, 
but  the  service  continued  fairly  efficient.  An  attempt  was  made, 
by  the  confiscation  of  sepoys'  letters,  to  discover  if  any  organized 
plan  of  attack  or  resistance  was  in  circulation,  but  nothing  incrim- 
inatory was  found,  the  correspondence  consisting  chiefly  of  love- 
letters. 

Financial. — At  one  time  the  necessary  cash  for  the  pay  of 
establishments  ran  short,  but  this  was  met  by  bills  upon  native 
bankers,  who  have  since  been  repaid. 

Hospitals. — The  dispensaries  were  in  full  working  order  through- 
out the  year,  and  the  number  of  cases  treated — especially  for 
wounds  and  hurts,  many  of  them  grievous — above  the  average. 

Health  and  Population. — Both  were  normal,  and  the  supply  of 
food  grains  ample.  Markets  strong,  and  well  supplied  throughout. 
Some  grain  stores  were  burned,  some  plundered  ;  but,  as  a  rule,  if 
A  robbed  B,  B  in  his  turn  robbed  C.  So  the  matter  adjusted 
itself.  In  many  cases  also,  the  booty  was  restored  amicably  when 
it  became  evident  that  Government  could  hold  its  own. 

Agrictilttire. — Notwithstanding  the  violence  of  contest,  the 
many  instances  of  plundered  and  burned  villages,  the  necessary 
impressment  of  labor  and  cattle,  and  the  license  of  mutineers  con- 
sorting with  felons,  agricultural  interests  did  not  suffer.  Plowing 
and  sowing  went  on  steadily,  and  the  land  was  well  covered  with 
a  full  winter  crop. 

General  Remarks. — Beyond  these  plundered  and  burned  villages, 
which  are  still  somewhat  of  an  eyesore,  though  they  are  recovering 
themselves  rapidly,  the  only  result  of  tlie  Mutiny  to  be  observed 
in  my  district  is  that  money  seems  scarcer,  and  so  the  cultivators 
have  to  pay  a  higher  rate  of  interest  on  loans. 

There  are,  of  course,  some  empty  chairs  in  the  district  durbar. 
I  append  a  list  of  their  late  occupants  also,  and  suggest  that  the 
vacancies  might  be  filled  from  the  other  list,  as  some  of  those 
gentlemen  who  helped  to  raise  the  levy  have  not  yet  got  chairs. 

In  regard  to  future  punishments,  however,  I  venture  to  suggest 
that  orders  should  be  issued  limiting  the  period  during  which 
mutineers  can  be  brought  to  justice.  If  some  such  check  on 
malicious  accusation  be  not  laid  down  we  shall  have  a  fine  crop  of 
false  cases,  perjuries,  etc.,  since  the  late  disturbances  have,  natur- 
ally, caused  a  good  many  family  differences.  In  view  of  this  also, 
I  believe  it  would  l)e  safest,  in  the  event  of  such  accusations  in  the 
future,  to  punish  the  whole  village  to  which  the  alleged  mutineer 
belongs  by  a  heavy  fine,  rather  than  to  single  out  individuals  as 
examples.     In  a  case  like  the  present  it  is  extremely  difficult  to 


474  APPENDIX  B. 

measure  the  exr.ct  proportion  of  guilt  attachable  to  each  member 
of  the  community,  and,  even  with  the  very  greatest  care,  I  find  it 
is  not  always  possible  to  hang  the  right  man.  And  this  is  a 
difficulty  which  will  increase  as  time  goes  on. 


APPENDIX  B. 

Delhi,  Christmas  Day,  1858. 

Dear  Mrs.  Erlton  :  I  can  scarcely  believe  that  two  whole 
years  have  passed  since  I  helped  you  to  decorate  a  Christmas-tree 
in  the  Government  college  here.  Those  long  months  before  the 
walls,  and  those  others  of  wild  chase  after  vanishing  mutineers 
over  half  India  seem  to  belong  to  someone  else's  existence  now 
that  I — and  the  world  around  me — are  back  in  the  commonplaces 
of  life.  I  was  down  to-day  helping  the  chaplain's  wife  with 
another  tree — she  has  a  very  pretty  sister,  by  the  way,  just  out  from 
England — and  I  almost  fancied  as  I  looked  into  the  dim  screened 
veranda  where  we  are  going  to  have  an  entertainment,  that  I 
could  see  you  sitting  there  with  little  Sonny  Seymour  on  j'our  lap 
as  I  found  you  that  afternoon  half  asleep — that  interminable  play 
about  the  Lord  of  Life  and  Death  (wasn't  it .'')  had  been  too  much 
for  you. 

Well,  I  can  only  hope  that  Mr.  Douglas'  health  and  the  pleas 
ures  of  that  Scotch  home,  of  which  you  wrote  me  such  a  delight 
ful  description,  will  allow  of  your  returning  to  India  sometime  and 
giving  me  a  sight  of  you  again. 

Meanwhile  I  am  reminded  that  I  sent  you  off  a  small  parcel  by 
last  mail  which  I  trust  may  arrive  before  the  wedding,  as  this 
should  do,  and  convey  to  you  the  kindly  remembrances  of  friends 
many  thousand  miles  away.  Not  that  you  will  need  to  be  reminded. 
I  fancy  that  few  who  went  through  the  Indian  Mutiny  will  ever 
need  to  have  the  faces  and  places  they  saw  there  recalled  to  their 
memory.  Terrible  as  it  was  at  the  time,  I  myself  feel  that  I  would 
not  willingly  forget  a  single  detail.  So,  being  certain  that  it  holds 
vour  interest,  your  imagination  also,  I  am  inclosing  something 
for  you  to  read.  Can  you  not  imagine  the  Silent  and  Diffident 
Dashe  writing  it?  I  can,  and  the  careful  way  in  which  he  would 
order  the  gallows  to  be  removed  and  lay  down  his  sword  in  favor 
of  his  pen  at  the  earliest  opportunity.  You  see  he  favors  clemency 
Canning.  So  do  most  of  us  out  here  except  those  who  have  not 
yet  recovered  their  nerves.  I  remember  hearing  Hodson — sad, 
wasn't  it.'  his  death  over  a  needless  piece  of  dare-devilry — very 
angry  over  something  Mr.  Douglas  said  about  our  all  being  in  a 
blind  funk.  I  am  afraid  it  was  true  of  a  good  many.  Not  Dashe, 
however,  he  kept  his  district  together  by  sheer  absence  of  fear, 
and  so  did  many  another.     This  report,  then,  will  carry  you  on  in 


APPENDIX  B.  475 

the  story,  as  it  were,  since  you  left  us.  For  the  rest,  there  is  not 
much  to  tell.  You  remember  our  old  mess  khansaman  Numgal 
Khan  ?  He  turned  up,  with  his  bill,  and  out  of  pure  delight 
insisted  on  feasting  us  so  lavishly  that  we  had  to  make  him  moder- 
ate his  transports.  Even  with  batta  and  prize  money  we  should 
all  have  been  bankrupt,  like  the  royal  family.  I  can't  help  pitying 
it.  Of  course  we  have  pensioned  the  lot,  but  I  expect  precious 
little  hard  cash  gets  to  some  of  those  wretched  women.  One  of 
them,  no  less  a  person  than  the  Princess  Farkhoonda  Zamani, 
that  beast  Abool-bukr's  ally,  has  set  up  a  girls'  school  in  the  city. 
If  she  had  only  befriended  you  instead  of  turning  you  out  to  find 
your  own  fate,  she  would  have  done  better  for  herself.  Talking 
of  friends  and  foes,  it  is  rather  amusing  to  find  the  villages  full  of 
men  busy  at  their  plows  with  a  suspiciously  military  set  about 
the  shoulders,  who,  according  to  their  own  showing,  never  wore 
uniform,  or  doffed  it  before  the  IMutiny  began.  I  was  much  struck 
with  one  of  these  defaulters  the  other  day;  a  big  Rajpoot,  who, 
but  for  his  name,  might  have  stood  for  the  Laodicean  sepoy  you 
told  me  about.  But  names  can  be  changed,  so  can  faces  ;  and 
that  reminds  me  that  I  had  a  petition  from  that  old  scoundrel 
Tiddu  the  other  day — you  know  I  have  been  put  on  to  civil  work 
lately,  and  shall  end,  I  suppose,  by  being  a  Commissioner  as  well 
as  a  Colonel.  He  has  had  a  grant  of  land  given  him  for  life,  and 
he  now  wants  the  tenure  extended  in  favor  of  one  Jhungi,  who,  he 
declares,  helped  you  in  your  marvelous  escape.  It  seems  there 
was  another  brother,  one  Bhungi,  who— but  I  own  to  being  a  little 
confused  in  the  matter.  Perhaps  you  can  set  me  straight.  Mean- 
while, I  have  pigeon-holed  the  Jhungi-Bhungi  claim  until  I  hear 
from  you.  The  old  man  was  well,  and  asked  fervently  after 
Sonny,  who,  by  the  way,  goes  home  from  Lucknow  in  the  spring. 
1  expect  the  Seymours  are  about  the  only  family  in  India  which  came 
out  of  the  business  unscathed  ;  yet  tbey  were  in  the  thick  of  it. 
Truly  the  whole  thing  was  a  mystery  from  beginning  to  end.  I 
asked  a  native  yesterday  if  he  could  explain  it,  but  he  only  shook  his 
head  and  said  the  Lord  had  sent  a  "  breath  into  the  land."  But  the 
most  remarkable  thing  to  my  mind  about  the  whole  affair  is  the 
rapidity  with  which  it  proved  the  stuff  a  man  was  made  of.  You 
can  see  that  by  looking  into  the  cemeteries.  India  is  a  dead  level 
for  the  present ;  all  the  heads  that  towered  above  their  fellows  laid 
low.  Think  of  them  all  !  Havelock,  Lawrence,  Outram.  The 
names  crowd  to  one's  lips ;  but  they  seem  to  begin  and  end  with 
one — Nicholson! 

Well,  good-by !     I  have  not  wished  you  luck— that  goes  with- 
out saying ;  but  tell  Douglas  I'm  glad  he  had  his  chance. 
Ever  yours  truly, 

Charles  Morecombe. 


MISS  STUART'S    LEGACY 

BY 

Mrs.  F.  A.  STEEL. 

Cfoth,    12mo,  pp.   460.    $1.50. 


"A  strong  and  vivid  book." — The  New  York  Recorder. 

"A  thoroughly  delightful  story  of  life  in  India.  .  .  The  entire 
novel  is  interesting,  while  many  of  the  incidents  are  thrilling." — Public 
Opinion. 

"  There  is  plenty  of  strong  writing  and  a  well-conceived  plot  carefully 
wrought  out  in  this  story  that  are  bound  to  secure  the  attention  of  the 
reader." — 7'Ae  Christiati  Intelligencer. 

"  A  story  of  British  life  in  India  which  is  unusually  good.  .  .  The 
strength  of  the  story  lies  in  the  study  of  characters,  which  is  fine  and 
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which  seem  more  realistic  than  any  we  have  met  with  before." — The 
Cincinnati  Commercial  Gazette. 

"  Those  who  have  read  Mrs.  F.  A.  Steel's  short  stories  will  be  pre- 
pared to  receive  her  novel,  '  Miss  Stuart's  Legacy,'  as  very  good,  and  no 
disappointment  awaits  them.  .  .  There  is  no  novel-writing  English- 
woman who  has  better  material  than  Mrs.  Steel,  and  what  other  makes 
better  use  of  such  material  than  she  has  ?  " —  The  Boston  Hei-ald. 

"'Miss  Stuart's  Legacy '  will  be  approved  by  all  who  read  it.  .  . 
The  plot  is  cleverly  wrought,  the  incidents  are  natural,  and  the  strong 
story  is  well  told.  Mrs.  Steel  has  given  us  not  only  an  interesting  novel, 
but  a  true  picture  of  Indian  life." — The  New  York  World. 

"The  story  is  a  delightful  one,  with  a  good  plot,  an  abundance  of 
action  and  incident,  well  and  naturally  drawn  characters,  excellent  in 
sentiment,  and  with  a  good  ending.  Its  interest  begins  with  the  open- 
ing paragraph  and  is  well  sustained  to  the  end.  Mrs.  Steel  touches  all 
her  stories  with  the  hand  of  a  master,  and  she  has  yet  to  write  one  that 
is  in  any  way  dull  or  uninteresting." — The  Christian  at  Work. 


"  A  book  of  far  more  than  average  ability  and,  in  fact,  one  of  the  best 
stories  of  life  in  India  among  both  the  English  residents  and  the  higher 
class  of  natives  that  we  have  ever  read.  It  is  not  only  a  deeply  interest- 
ing story,  but  it  is  a  most  artistic  and  at  times  psychological  study  of 
character  as  original  as  it  is  of  high  literary  excellence.  .  .  There  are 
some  situations  in  the  story  that  show  the  author's  remarkable  dramatic 
power  for  delineation,  and  her  character-drawing  is  of  unexcelled  excel- 
lence."—  The  Boston  Home  Joiir7ial. 

"  It  is  a  deserved  compliment  to  Mrs.  Steel  to  say  that  her  novel  is  an 
extremely  able  one,  far  above  the  average  of  similar  work  from  writers 
as  little  known  as  she.  Unless  we  are  greatly  mistaken  she  will  find  a 
ready  public  hereafter.  '  Miss  Stuart's  Legacy  '  is  distinctly  an  artistic 
book.  It  is  not  only  well  constructed  and  well  written,  but  the  charac- 
ters are  handled  with  great  discrimination  and  with  an  equal  strength 
and  reticence  which  some  older  writers  might  imitate  to  good  advantage. 
.  .  Mrs.  Steel's  facility  in  drawing  a  spirited  picture  with  a  few  strokes 
of  the  pen  is  quite  remarkable,  and  her  style  is  at  once  lucid  and  pic- 
turesque. .  .  We  shall  look  for  another  work  from  this  author  with 
interest." — The  Boston  Cota-ier. 

"  To  lay  the  scene  of  a  novel  in  India  is  to  start  with  a  heavy  handi- 
cap. .  .  Mrs.  Steel  is  happily  as  unaffected  by  Mr.  Kipling  as  if  he 
had  never  existed.  She  has  the  characteristic  gifts  which  distinguish  the 
novelist  from  the  writer  of  short  stories — the  gifts  of  devising  and  sus- 
taining a  plot  and  of  elaborating  character.  Her  method  is  deliberate 
and  thoughtful,  without  any  appearance  of  striving  for  smartness  or  epi- 
gram. In  incident  she  moves  securely  between  the  improbable  and  the 
commonplace,  developing  a  drama  not  dependent  for  effect  on  detach- 
able situations  or  sudden  explosion  of  passions.  .  .  In  drawing  the 
Orientals,  the  author  seems  to  step  out  from  her  nation  and  her  race,  and 
to  become  one  of  their  own  people.  When  to  such  uncommon  ability 
for  characterization  there  is  added  a  knowledge  in  detail  of  Indian  scenes, 
customs,  and  manners,  and  a  pleasant  manner  in  description,  it  cannot 
be  denied  that  Mrs.  Steel  has,  in  her  first  book,  we  believe,  made  good 
a  claim  to  distinction  in  her  profession." — The  N^ation. 


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THH    FLOWER    OF    FORGIVENESS 
AND  OTHER  STORIES 

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"  Each  story  in  this  volume  is  a  literary  gem,  and  the  reader  will  find 
a  strange,  weird  fascination  one  very  page." — Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  All  Mrs.  Steel's  stories  are  wonderfully  effective  and  subtle,  and  are 
written  with  exceeding  elegance.  The  lady  gives  us  an  acquaintance 
with  the  methods  of  thought  of  the  Hindoos  who  follow  Brahma  or  the 
Prophet  scarcely  obtainable  elsewhere." — N.   V.  Times. 

"  Mrs.  Steel  has  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  mental  operations  of  the  fol- 
lowers of  Brahma  or  Mohammed,  which  Kipling  never  had,  and  in  the 
'  Flower  of  Forgiveness '  (and  a  dozen  or  more  other  short  tales)  reveals 
to  us  the  poetic  side  of  the  Hindoo's  nature,  as  no  'other  writer  with 
whom  we  are  familiar  has  revealed  it.  These  stories  have  the  charm 
of  mystical  poetry  ;  they  are  studies  in  character,  like  nothing  else  in 
contemporary  literature." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  Mrs.  Flora  A.  Steel's  '  Flower  of  Forgiveness'  contains  more  of  the 
strong  studies  of  life  in  India,  of  the  great  merit  of  which  we  have 
already  spoken.  There  is  found  here  as  intimate  knowledge  of  the  sub- 
ject as  that  of  Mr.  Kipling,  together  with  a  vastly  greater  sympathy  with 
native  feeling  and  native  suffering.  The  stories  are  intense,  often  tragic 
with  the  tragedy  of  humble  sacrifice  and  pain,  and  yet  with  glimpses  of 
Anglo-Indian  fun  here  and  there." — The  Outlook. 


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RED    ROWANS 

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"  Richness  of  description  and  dramatic  power  are  the  conspicuous 
traits  called  forth  in  Mrs.  Steel's  latest  novel." — Albany  Times- Union. 

"A  pure  and  very  charming  love  story." — Vogue. 

"  The  book  has  great  literary  excellence,  and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  find 
in  a  modern  novel  humor  without  flippancy,  and  reflection  without 
epigram." — Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

"This  is  one  of  Mrs.  Steel's  best  works.  The  novel  is  an  extremely 
able  one,  well  written  and  intensely  interesting." — N'ew  Haven  Leader. 

"  It  is  much  for  her  art  that  the  tragic  close  seems  as  purely  accidental 
as  a  real  occurrence,  and  that  the  rest  of  the  book  is  as  wholesome, 
and  sweet  and  fresh  as  the  moorland  air  itself — and  those  who  love 
Scotland  know  what  this  praise  means." — Boston  Evening  Transcript. 

"A  love  story,  simple,  sweet,  and  true,  is  a  joy  to  all  impressible 
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ious. The  author's  practiced  pen  achieves  an  effective  picture  with  few 
and  rapid  strokes,  the  narrative  is  animated  and  poetic  in  spirit,  and  the 
style  is  that  of  one  accustomed  to  none  but  the  best  and  purest  forms  of 
expression.  The  character-sketching  is  done  with  a  delicacy  of  strength 
and  a  careless  felicity  that  will  delight  all  readers  who  partake  of  this 
choice  banquet  of  ideal  fiction." — Boston  Courier. 


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TALES   OF   THE   PUNJAB, 

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"  A  book  that  will  be  welcomed  no  less  eagerly  by  the  children  than 
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lection of  Indian  stories,  entitled  '  Tales  of  the  Punjab.'  They  were 
taken  down  by  her  from  the  very  lips  of  the  natives  in  some  of  the  most 
primitive  districts  in  India.  Yet  these  tales,  handed  down  solely  by 
word  of  mouth  from  one  generation  to  another,  could  hardly  be  distin- 
guished from  those  in  a  Teutonic  collection  like  that  of  the  Brothers 
Grimm  ;  and  even  closer  examination  serves  only  to  impress  upon  us 
more  strongly  than  ever  before  the  unity  of  the  great  Indo-European 
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"  It  is  not  often  that  a  book  will  appeal  at  once  to  the  child  and  the 
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certainly  of  nothing  more  charming.  The  stories  themselves,  as  they 
have  been  rendered  by  Mrs.  Steel,  will  delight  the  children,  and  the 
notes  by  Mr.  Temple  will  be  found  of  great  value  by  the  students  of 
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